Ain't Gonna Kiss You
by maki0202
Summary: It all started on Christmas Eve, with grumpy Donald Ressler, and that damn mistletoe.
1. Chapter 1

**Ain't Gonna Kiss You**

**A/N: I wrote this during a 2-hour flight to northern California for family holiday vacation (I miss Keenler so much, and this story idea popped into my head). Just simple, fluffy, and silliness for my favorite couple. The ending was written with much haste (I wrote it during landing), so I apologize if it seems too rushed. And MERRY CHRISTMAS TO EVERYONE! **

**. . . . . . . . **

**Chapter 1**

"Damn…what the hell…"

The plastic lid of his coffee cup had popped off while Ressler was drinking it, and now he was bent over and fumbling in the darkness, cursing under his breath as he felt around under the car seat for that damned object. After two deep heaves of frustrated huff, he gave up the fickle search and sat up on the seat, leaning back to straighten his back, "This just gets better and better."

Liz had been eyeing the entire irate scene unfold, and she looked upon her partner with caution and burden, with a bit of disapproval mixed in. Earlier in the evening, they had received a lead from Reddington, who had informed them that the notorious criminal Abraham Abruezzi will be conducting arms sales at the warehouse by the DC port that night. And now they were assigned surveillance at the west entrance of the warehouse, sitting and shivering in the car in the dead of the most unforgiving wintry frost.

She stole a quick glance at the car radio, and the small clock blinked 11:28 P.M. They had been sitting there for four hours, and by now the temperature in the car had dropped by twenty degrees, the coffee had turned bitter cold, the leather gloves no longer shielded from mean frost bite, and her toes felt as though being pricked with unrelenting icicles. And Ressler…by his heavy huffing and the puffing of fitful breath curling like ghostly ash against the night…he's had enough of this. Absolutely enough of this.

And to elevate the matters to complete perfection, the night happened to be Christmas Eve. And every now and then she made a wistful glance toward the west, to gaze at the twinkling of red and white lights of the city skyscrapers yonder, beyond the foreboding darkness enveloping their lonesome car. She didn't think Ressler cared that it was Christmas Eve, but for her the night's surveillance felt cruel in the bitter irony…as if for that one night, she should be somewhere sheltered in warmth, laughter, and merriment. Just for one stinkin' night, out of the entire stinkin' year.

"Hey…" Her voice cracked between the chattering of her teeth as she turned to Ressler. By the faint light of the lone lamp above, she could make out his face, with his tightlipped frown and squinted focus upon the warehouse entrance. He was clutching onto his dark overcoat…it was freezing as hell, and he wasn't going to pretend any of it.

"What?"

"You alright?"

"No, I'm not." His curt response was biting, but just as expected. She felt tempted to ask him if he'll be going to Aram's Christmas party that night, but she thought better of the situation and held her tongue. Plus, who knew when this nightmare of surveillance would come to its dreadful end.

"Just relax…" Liz offered instead, to the profile of his proud nose that had begun to sniffle.

"Yup, I'll do just that…try to relax as I'm freezing my ass off. Just make sure you have them de-thaw my face first…wouldn't want the loony smile to become permanent."

She ignored his sarcasm without a blink, as she often does. "He'll show up…soon."

"What…and cut short of this perfectly nice evening? Who knew sub-zero would feel so cozy…"

"Ressler…"

"Yup, it's too early…I could still feel my toes."

She rolled her eyes, which Ressler didn't care to notice, "Abreuzzi will be here."

"Maybe he's out for the Christmas festivities…he is Catholic, after all. Unorthodox, I believe…but does that matter?"

Lizzie was just as resolute to not buckle under his abrasive derision, and said flatly, "The lead is solid."

"But if he shows up wearing a goddamn Santa outfit, I'll shoot him on sight…just watch me."

"Oh, Jesus…" She didn't mean to sound so prickly, but she was done playing the neutral grounds, "You could call this in, you know."

He shifted in his seat with a sharp tug of his coat, "Yeah, well, what would uncle Red say? This is his lead…and when he says, 'Jump', we say, 'How high?' Isn't that how it is usually, Keen?"

She eyed him suspiciously, "If you're suggesting that…"

"That is exactly what I'm suggesting. If Red says this or that, we just take it at face value and we follow his orders like it was some Holy Grail of Crime. And heaven forbid, Red could never be wrong."

"Ressler, I wouldn't bite the hand that feeds you…"

"He doesn't feed me."

"Or the hand that keeps this machine going."

"Well, right now, I'm thinkin' of throwing a wrench into this machine, and calling it a day."

Liz kept her eyes toward the darkened alley, as she thought she had seen a faint movement. Ressler's eyes followed the direction of her focus, but it turned out to be just a very cold and hungry dog. She breathed a sigh of tense suspense, and turned to him once again, "Are you pissed off at sitting in this freezing car…or the fact that it was Reddington who sent you to this freezing car?"

"Or to a blind chase."

"I hardly think it's a blind chase. That's not his style."

Ressler didn't respond to her, perhaps out of agreement that even in the most calculated menace, it would never gratify Reddington to send the two agents into fruitless labor. Even in jest, Reddington would not be amused. But Liz also knew that Ressler would never acknowledge that, in the dimmest possibility that the devil may find it flattering.

"One more hour…let's give it one more hour." Liz offered sheepishly, "I'll report it to Cooper."

"The hell with it…had a feeling this would go south. And it had to be during the coldest night of the western hemisphere."

She noted his sharp inflection, "Are you now pissed off that we're calling it off?"

"No."

"Then what is _wrong_ with you?"

"Nothing…"

"You're acting like one cranky child. Or a grumpy old man. Choose one…either works for me."

He snorted softly, but by the suspended pause, Liz knew he wasn't in the slightest mood to be bothered with against his whim. She exhaled deeply, just like one of his long huffs, "Look, my entire body is now a giant popsicle, and I'm trapped in here with the damn Grinch who stole Christmas. Oh, wait a minute…"

"What…?"

"Can't believe it…"

"What?"

"You're cranky because you're stuck here on Christmas Eve…"

Ressler let out a fitful of muffled chuckle, "Yup, you got me."

"How did I not see that earlier…"

"You're getting a little rusty there…but then again, I'm a man of mystery…not easy to read, you know."

Liz rolled her eyes, "So…what's the deal?"

"Huh?"

"You have plans or something…for tonight?"

"Tonight's already over…it's after midnight."

"You know what I mean…it is still technically Christmas Eve."

"Technically, it's not…"

Liz shot him a squinted glance, and even in the darkness their eyes met for a brief moment. She knew what he was up to, and wasn't about to let him off so easily. "Ressler…you're doing that again."

"What?"

"Evading my questions…"

"Am I?"

"Yeah, you are."

"Hmm…I didn't realize…"

She chuckled under her breath, "And you're still doing it…"

Liz was sure his lips had parted into a small grin just then, and he turned to her in an earnest tone, "OK, fine…what important question might you have for me?"

"Come on," she suddenly felt like a silly school girl asking a boy about his plans, "Do you really need me to repeat myself?"

"Oh, you mean…plans for tonight…for Christmas thing?"

"Yeah…"

"Keen, do I look like I'd be the…Christmas party kinda guy?"

"Surprisingly, yes…"

Ressler let out a low laughter, "I've always suspected your profiling skills to be a bit overrated, and now I know it is grossly off the rocker."

"And your Grinch persona is just a façade to hide your inner child's joy of Christmas…decorating the tree, picking out that special angel…maybe a little bit of mistletoe…eggnog…Santa down the chimney…were you naughty or nice…"

"Jesus Christ…"

"Oh, he's certainly part of it."

Ressler was no longer laughing along, and perhaps she had laid it a tad too thick, to the point of where he was starting to get annoyed. "Keen, sorry to disappoint you…but you have the wrong guy. My plan for tonight is the party of one, in my apartment, some cold beer, and ESPN."

She had nothing to say to that, for she absolutely believed him. "Aram's having a party tonight, you know."

"Uh huh."

"If you're up for it, you should drop by. Everyone will be there."

Ressler paused a slight, but it wasn't to mull over the possibility. No, it was to dull the rejection, which he flatly gave without a blink, "Nah…I don't think so."

"There will be plenty of food and alcohol…"

"Hmmm…"

"Wouldn't you want to see Aram let loose?"

Ressler chuckled softly, "It sounds tempting…I bet Aram is a crying drunk."

"I was thinking he would be more of a no mouth filter drunk."

"Or, he might be a sleazy drunk…turning into a stripper drunk."

"Oh, God. Then he should just be a sleeping drunk."

"No…he's a sad drunk, I just know it. He'd be crying, wailing…and clinging onto everyone, sobbing and mourning about the torture and the misfortune of this thing called life…"

They shared an easy laughter, and Ressler appeared a bit more relaxed…and a bit more pliable. "So, you're coming, then?"

He squinted his eyes at her, and shook his head, "Gotta say, you're strangely persistent."

"Ressler, it's only _one_ night out of the _entire_ year."

He didn't say a word, but kept his eyes fixed upon the warehouse with tightly pursed lips. But she didn't feel discouraged, "It must be the company. Oh, the bother and the burden of pretending to actually like the people you see almost twenty-four hours of your day…"

"Oh, Jesus…"

"We are a terrible bunch…ugly and terrible…and you're just itching to clock out…"

"I actually like one or two of you…" He snorted softly, turning to Liz with a small grin.

"Then it must be the booze. You don't like free booze."

"Funny…"

"Then…is it the gathering of people? Like it's going to be awkward, and you have to answer personal questions…"

Ressler turned to face her, cutting her off efficiently, "Look, Keen…I ain't gonna make it out to a damn party. That is just not my thing, and you know it. So count me out tonight."

She knew that all along, but it was still disappointing to hear it. "Alright, fine…"

After few minutes of silently watching the unchanging still view of the shadowy warehouse, Ressler yawned and stretched his legs, "So, should we call this in? Both of us know this isn't happening tonight."

"Alright…I'll call Cooper."

She made a phone call to Cooper, reporting to him that Abreuzzi did not show and that the parameters were clean. The connection was brief, and after she hung up, Ressler started the car and turned on the heater.

"What did he say?"

"He called off the surveillance."

"Anything else?"

"Debrief tomorrow morning."

"Got it…"

"Oh, and you won't believe where Cooper was."

"Where?"

"At Aram's party."

. . . . . . . . .

Ressler dropped Liz off at her apartment, and even as they bid a hasty good-bye, she didn't bring up Aram's party again, for she knew he was not coming and he'd be too stubborn to change his mind. But just as she entered the warm haven of her own apartment, she herself had second thoughts about going to Aram's party. They've just been on surveillance duty for four hours, and she was dreadfully tired and every bone in her body seemed to ache. And as she switched on the lights of her bedroom, her eyes longingly rested on the sight of her bed and the pajamas strewn on it, with every faculty of her mind…and every muscle of her body…begging her to give in to the delight of respite and slumber.

"No…no…no. I've been trying to convince Ressler to go, so if I don't show up, then it's…it's….no, I have to go, " she scolded herself, "They're expecting me…and I don't want to skip out, just because Ressler skipped out."

And resolutely, Liz marched to her closet, and pulled out the most Christmas-y outfit she could think of: red turtleneck sweater and her trusty black jeans. She had no greens, so this would have to do.

Then she went into the bathroom to attempt to fix her hair, but the more she fussed with it, the more it battled back. Her hair had been frozen in icicles…and now in its de-thawed state, it was a limp and lifeless mess, completely uncooperative and resistant to the owner's begging. Finally, she decided to just put it in a pony tail, and after a loud heave of frustration, she looked in the mirror for the last time.

"Damn it…damn it all to hell…I look horrible, and I'm very very late." She muttered to herself as she looked for a lipstick, "Damn Ressler. So damn stubborn."

She caught herself spewing the last sentiments, and she momentarily froze, feeling caught off guard that his name existed in the realm of her fussing over makeup. Yes, she was disappointed that he's not going tonight, but she was surprised at just how much she was upset by it. She just couldn't understand him…it's just a simple party, what was the big deal? And…and…she was going…so he should go, too. Isn't that what partners do…have each other's back in _every_ situation? And…doesn't he want to keep her company? Wasn't it obvious to him that she wanted him to go…with her?

"Apparently not. Now I know who my real friends are." And she angrily flipped off the bathroom lights and walked out, grabbing her keys from the dining table and walking toward the door of her apartment before she changed her mind.

. . . . . . . . .

"Hey, Liz, you made it."

"Yeah…"

Samar smiled warmly as soon as she spotted Liz walking toward her, grabbing a cold can of beer from the bucket set on the kitchen counter. "I heard about the surveillance. What a mess, huh?"

Liz took the beer from Samar's hand, "Nah, it wasn't so bad." She was fibbing, but she wasn't feeling up to retelling the horror of the night. She took a small sip of the beer, and looked around Aram's living room, which was surprisingly crowded. She spotted Cooper in the corner couch, sitting with his two other men and having a very animated discussion. There were also a lot of people she wasn't familiar with.

"They are Aram's friends…from college, I believe." Samar offered, as if she could read Liz's mind.

"Surprised it's still crowded, given the late hour."

"Yeah," Samar offered a tight smile, while watching Aram pass by with a toothy grin. "I think Cooper is a bit tipsy. By the way, where's Don?"

"Ressler…is not coming."

"Oh, really…"

"He said he's…tired."

"I see…" Samar reached for a bottle of wine across the counter, and poured herself a glass, "Somehow I doubt that's the reason."

"Well, you know…he's…"

"Yeah, I know how he is. But still, I'm a bit surprised that he didn't follow you here like a smitten puppy dog."

"Ah…it wasn't too hard for him to say no to me, several times and some more."

Samar chuckled under her breath, and she bit her lip as if she was amused, "Liz, be careful now…"

"About what…?"

"You sound like a girl who just got rejected by a boy."

"What? No…" Liz was taken aback by Samar's audacious words, regardless of harmless humor, and she felt as though robbed of words, "That's…just ridiculous."

"Liz…"

"Ressler is free to do whatever he wants…it doesn't matter to me at all."

"Come on now, I only meant that as jest…I just like to poke fun at Don, that's all. Please understand…"

Liz took a long gulp of the beer, to calm her nerves and to erase her face of the troubled countenance, "Of course, I understand…Ressler and I are partners, after all. I'm used to people pairing us up, all for harmless jest. It happens all the time…"

"Right…" Samar poured herself another glass of red wine, "So…are you going in to the office tomorrow?"

"Looks like it…Cooper wants a debrief early in the morning, regarding tonight's case." Liz answered with a nod, and it didn't escape her that Samar had changed the subject. A bit clunky, but it'd do.

Soon after, Liz decided to venture out to the food table, and filled her plate with whatever she could scrounge around on the diminishing platters. She and Cooper exchanged some words, but he didn't say a word of business nature, as expected. Aram also introduced her to many of his male friends, but she didn't like the way he said she was "divorced", as if he was setting her up to be a candidate of some sorts. She also drank a whole lot of alcohol, as Samar continued to fill her hand with some kind of something.

It's been about an hour that Liz had been at the party when Samar tapped on her shoulder, "I can't believe it…"

"What is it?"

"You wouldn't believe who just walked through the door…"

"Who?"

"Don…he's here."

Liz quickly turned around, and indeed Ressler was by the door, across the living room, shaking hands with Aram and Cooper. She couldn't believe he was there, after all the fuss about parties not being his style, or whatever he had said earlier. Just what the hell was he doing? And whatever happened to the party of one with the beer at his apartment? Did he…did he just watch her do all the work of trying to convince him, when he had planned to come all along….?

"Aren't you gonna go talk to him?" Samar nudged her arm, eyeing her with a hint of confusion and wariness.

"Uhh…"

"Liz?"

"Umm…I'll just give him some time to greet people, you know, get settled in."

The truth was, Liz didn't want to be the one who approached him first, and she couldn't even explain to herself why she felt that way. Never mind that she had now fully reverted back to high school, but at that moment, she just couldn't help it. With the throng of people between them, Liz eyed Ressler as he made his way around the room. She felt a tinge of disappointment when he did not once scan the room to look for her.

Ressler spent about good ten minutes by the food table, talking to a few of Aram's friends. This was getting quite exasperating…just what the hell were they talking about, and what could be _that_ interesting? Just when is he going to come talk to her?

"Oh, the hell with it…" And with an angry huff, Liz made her way toward the food table, avoiding Ressler's eyes but keeping him in the peripheral. She lingered at the end of the table, pretending to look over some cheese and crackers, when she heard his laughter emanating. Something about his laughter exasperated her even more, and she made a bold step closer to Ressler.

"Keen…" He finally spotted her, as she was a mere two steps away, awkwardly clutching onto the fruit bowl.

"Ressler?" Liz feigned a surprise as best as she could, but she wasn't certain whether he was wholly convinced.

"Hey…"

"What are you doing here?"

"Just came about ten minutes ago."

"Whatever happened to your party of one?"

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, "Well, you know…there's always room for more."

"So…you are the Christmas party kinda guy after all."

"I wouldn't go that far…" Ressler grinned, just as he scanned the food laid about on the table, but it didn't look like he was about to partake in any of the unfortunate leftovers. "How long have you been here?"

"Just about an hour or so."

"To be honest, Keen, you look exhausted." His doleful eyes rested upon her face, "You thinkin' about heading out soon?"

"Umm…yeah…in a little bit." She kept her eyes wide and put on a pleasant smile, but at all she wanted to do was to hide somewhere, away from his sly scrutinizing gaze. And her mind quickly went to work, analyzing how her face may look at the moment…lipstick smudged from eating, dark under-eye circles highlighting its puffiness, sallow complexion from lack of sleep, and the last bit of fleshy makeup evaporated from the heat of the room. Ressler was right…she looked like hell. And the thing is…she didn't care about it until he came along. Damn it.

"So…" Ressler went on as unaware as ever, "who knew Aram had…friends? And they're…normal looking."

"This, coming from the guy who is the _one_ in the party of _one_."

"Hey…I'm just particular about the company I keep."

"Assuming any company would want to keep you."

"Hey…I have friends…"

"I don't count."

"I never said you were."

They exchanged a flicker of nervous glance, and for reasons beyond her own understanding, Liz felt the sudden urge to…get away. "Anyway, I should get back to Samar."

"Yeah, I'm gonna stick with Cooper for a bit. I'm not staying long…just making rounds, showing my face. Then I'm outta here."

"OK…so, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sure."

Ressler nodded to Liz as they made their way toward their respective company, but they lingered at the narrow doorway of the kitchen. He offered her the entrance with a flair of hand, "Ladies first."

"Thanks…"

But just as she was about to walk through, she heard a loud commotion and laughter, with a loud gasp coming from Aram who seemed to be pointing at them. And he was calling out to others, "Look! They're standing underneath the mistletoe!"

Soon, others gathered around Liz and Ressler under the doorway of the kitchen, with a quiet but enthusiastic energy of wanting to witness the source of Aram's glee. Liz spotted Samar smiling with a smug satisfaction, while Cooper watched on with a patient grin. Some were clapping, and some were raising their wine glasses in a congratulatory offering.

"I don't believe it…" Ressler muttered as he cursed at the mistletoe hung above their heads, "This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever…I mean, how old are we? Twelve?"

"You have to kiss! Agent Ressler, you know the rules…" Aram yelled at the two above the heightening claps around them, and the pockets of crowd were chanting, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

"Damn it…these twelve year old bastards…" Ressler frowned, not hiding his irritation one bit.

"Ressler, watch it…"

He glowered at her words, and leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "Well, I'm gonna take that damn plant and rip it to pieces."

She hissed back at his flushed face, "You will do no such thing."

"Then, just what the hell do you suggest that I do?"

They turned to look back at the crowd, becoming more troubled at the relentless and unceasing eagerness as they stood waiting, with Aram being the ring leader of sorts. He was leading the dreaded chant, with his arms flailing to the beat of the cry.

"I will murder him…" Ressler whispered in her ear again, "And I won't regret it."

"Ressler…"

"Or punch that smug grin off his face."

"Stop it…"

"So typical of him to pull such a cheesy move…it's the only way for him to get a girl to kiss him."

"Shut up, Ress…"

He leaned closer to her, enough for her to feel his hot breath upon her face, "Keen, don't be defending that childish behavior!"

"I am not!"

Ressler didn't leave their small space, "Well…whatever you're thinking…you could stop thinking about it."

"What?"

"Because it's not happening."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The crowd had now begun to clap in unison, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hear Ressler's voice. Liz felt helpless and trapped, and it was impossible to think under the noise. And it certainly didn't help that Ressler was an inch away from her face, spewing words of curses and demands.

Then they both saw Cooper make his way toward them, positioning himself next to Aram. Ressler smiled in hopes that perhaps he'd be offered a rescue, but the words heard were of the contrary. "Agent Ressler, you will perform as what is properly expected in this circumstance."

At those words, the crowd roared in cheers and laughter, and Ressler turned to her with a crushed face, "Damn it all to hell…"

"Let's just…"

"No, we are not."

"What…"

"No way."

"No, what?"

Ressler paused a slight, and muttered under his breath, "I ain't gonna kiss you, Keen."

"I wasn't suggesting that…"

"Well, whatever it is that you're suggesting, it is irrelevant to the fact that…_it_ is not happening."

Now it was her turn to give him a sharp scowl, "Hey, let's get this straight…I was _not_ suggesting that we…"

"We're done discussing it."

"Don't you dare be thinking that I…"

"Keen…"

"Now you listen, Ressler. For the record, I'd _never_ suggest that we actually kiss…"

"Well, I ain't gonna kiss you, Keen."

"Yeah, you said that already." She was a breath away from punching his face, "I was gonna suggest that we create a diversion…"

"A diversion? You've got to be kidding me…this isn't some field op…"

"Well, we have to do something…" Liz glanced at the expectant crowd, "The locals are getting wild."

Ressler inhaled a fitful of air, "I'm just gonna stick to my original plan."

"Which is?"

"Ripping the damn plant to pieces."

"It's actually a flower."

"Keen..."

She shook her head at him nonetheless, "Before your turn as a brute beast, any other ideas?"

"I'm willing to try anything at the moment…well, except for one…"

"Yeah, I know…you ain't gonna kiss me."

. . . . . . . . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Ain't Gonna Kiss You**

**A/N: Happy New Year to everyone! And thank you for reading this story!**

**. . . . . . . . **

**Chapter 2**

"We're landing in ten."

"Right…"

"If everything goes according to plan, we should be outta there in two hours."

"If according to plan, that is."

"Don't jinx it, Keen."

Ressler growled at Liz while adjusting his seatbelt, then he took the files in her hand and shoved them into his briefcase. She adjusted her seatbelt as well, tightening the loop on her waist as the FBI issue chopper sputtered downward, getting ready to land in the midst of mild snow storm. The Abraham Abruezzi case had dogged them for the entire week, and just when they had thought he had disappeared, the New York office had apprehended a suspect who fit the description of the wily criminal. And now Ressler and Liz were on their way to confirm and to transport the suspect, and hopefully to put an end to the pesky pursuit that began on the night of Christmas Eve.

But to make the occasion perfectly fortuitous, that night happened to be New Year's Eve, and Liz couldn't help but to chuckle at the ironic serendipity that aligned with this particular criminal. She hadn't had any plans for the night, save for the pajamas on the bed while watching the New Year's ball drop on TV…if that is considered plans at all. She shot a furtive glance at Ressler, and by his brusque and reticent behavior, she surmised perhaps he had plans and was annoyed as hell that he was stuck with this transport duty. She checked her watch, and it read half past eight o'clock…whatever his plans were, he had plenty of time if they were to fly back in two hours. If everything went according to plan, that is.

"Damn, this snow storm…" Ressler leaned closer to her, to take a peek at the small window at her side. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"It's considered mild…it'll let up soon."

"I hope you're right…"

"According to you, I'm always right."

"Funny…" Ressler cracked a smile, but only for a brief moment before a scowl took its usual position, "Well, it wouldn't be a funny matter if we have to stay in New York for the night."

"God, no…I don't think it'd come to that."

"Because I ain't staying at some damn motel on…"

"On what? You mean, New Year's Eve?"

"Hmm, I didn't realize…"

"Sure, you didn't…" She eyed him with a poorly masked scrutiny, and he returned her gaze with feigned innocence. "You got plans, Ressler?"

"Oh, not that again." He snorted with a slight head shake, "I got no plans, and you know it."

"No hot date, for a midnight kiss?"

"Unbelievable…the art of instigation, right here." He laughed at her direction with a look of amusement, "So, what's on your agenda? Aram's New Year's party? You can try to talk me into going, but it's not gonna…"

"He's not having a party, for your information. I think he's taking a break from office parties, since the last time when you…"

"Hey, it's not my fault that…"

"It's not your fault that you ripped up the mistletoe to pieces, and threw it into the trash bag?"

"OK…the ripping was all me, but it wasn't my fault that I had to do it…the ripping, that is."

"Oh, Jesus…"

"That damn mistletoe…had no business being there…at a gathering of respectable professionals."

"Uh huh…"

Ressler turned to Liz to demand full attention, "Plus, the party was winding down…everyone was getting ready to go home."

"Well, everyone did leave after that. It got real awkward…poor Aram."

"Keen…don't you dare take Aram's side."

"This isn't about taking sides!"

"Just remember…that was just as for you as it was for me. It was…a mutual rescue, and you should be thanking me, instead of giving me a hard time about it."

"There could've been a better way to deal with it."

"Not that you were helping…as I recall, you didn't have one bit of a helpful suggestion for me. All you did was look at me, as if it was up to me to do something about it."

Liz shot him a sharp eyeful of annoyance, "As I recall, I did try to help the situation, but you didn't want to hear it."

"Oh, no…don't go there, Keen. You were suggesting that we actually…"

"Jesus Christ…I wasn't suggesting _that._ I would never…"

"Never, huh? Ouch…"

Liza held her tongue, as she was caught a bit off guard at his rather odd turn of tone, for it was he who insisted with much vigor that they…don't kiss, much to her embarrassment as perhaps it was attributed to her…kissable quality. "It stings a little now that the tables are turned, eh?"

"Well, I wasn't about to put on a kiss show in front of everyone…but I didn't say never, did I?"

She didn't meet his gaze, as she was certain he was being sarcastic, again. "Shut up, Ress…"

"Can't imagine what would've happened if I did kiss you…"

"Awkward…totally awkward."

"Yup, either way, it would've killed the party."

She turned to face him, feeling more bold by his rare disclosure, "I get what you were doing…but you didn't have to be such an ass about it."

"What the hell…"

"You didn't have to make me look like…"

"Like what?"

She had now regretted she had started this unfortunate chain of conversation, but Ressler was already on to her and she couldn't retract. "Like I'm the world's most undesirable woman alive."

"A what?"

"The way you carried on and on about how you ain't gonna kiss me…how do you think that made me look?"

"Come on, Keen, that's not what I meant. You're hardly the…"

"That's not the point." She spoke quickly to cut him off, not knowing why she had to do it, but perhaps it was to avoid having words said between them that he may regret later. "The point is, you made me look like a fool…and I was embarrassed."

"Jesus Christ…look, I'm sorry, Keen. I didn't mean it like that. You're a…very attractive woman, and it was never my intention to…"

"Alright, alright…apology accepted." She once again cut him off, not quite understanding why she felt compelled to…or why she felt the glowing heat rising from deep within her. What did he just say to her…about her?

"Geez, bite my head off even when I'm apologizing."

"In any case, you have singlehandedly ruined Aram's party."

Ressler simply shrugged his shoulders, as if he didn't have a care in the details, "It doesn't matter now…what's done is done."

"Easy for you to say…it wasn't your party that got ruined by your beastly co-worker."

"Nice…if by beastly, you mean manly…I can't argue against that."

Just when Liz was about to give him an earful of opposition, the chopper landed on the ground with a muffled thud, and their attention was directed to the officer who signaled them to remained seated until cleared. Liz unbuckled her seatbelt just as the officer opened the chopper door, and she yelled at Ressler above the deafening sound of the roaring engine, "Let's just focus, and get this done. And get the hell out of here."

"Agreed."

They hopped off the chopper and made their way across the tarmac, walking hastily against the wintry cold wind that assailed their faces onward. The snow storm had not assuaged one bit, and Liz didn't have the heart to admit that indeed, it didn't look to be letting up any time soon. Ressler must've realize it as well, as his footsteps turned into agitated strides, with the angry huff of his breath curling about in the steady and unrelenting snow. She had experienced worse snow storms before, and surely this was nothing compared to those that shut down air transportation. This may delay their travels…but it won't completely prevent them…would it?

. . . . . . . .

"You've got to be kidding me."

"No, sir."

"Surely, there's got to be something we can do."

"I'm afraid not, sir."

Liz stood behind Ressler, keeping a watchful eye over her irate partner who was trying to argue his way with the air controller officer who was clearly not having it. Ressler had used humor, angry bursts, threats, and haggling…and nothing had worked thus far, much to his tempered chagrin. She herself had already relinquished to the fact that they will be spending the night in New York, having received official word that all landing ports are closed down due to the snow storm. But it was going to take Ressler just a little bit more time to accept what was essentially inevitable, and he wasn't going to give in to it without a stubborn fight.

"It's New Year's Eve, one of the busiest traveled time of the year…and you're telling me that all airports are closed?"

"Just all metro airports, for now, which includes New York and Washington DC."

"But…but…it's hardly snowing."

"Sir, it's the official report." The air controller officer was just as resolute to Ressler's baseless arguments, and as his jaw remained locked and steady in growing impatience, Liz has had enough of this as well.

"Excuse me…" Liz stepped in front of Ressler and grabbed his arm, pulling him aside just as she turned to the officer, "Thank you for all your help. We understand perfectly…thank you."

The officer took the cue, and after a nod, he walked away with a sly look of relief, leaving them standing alone in the hallway of the New York bureau office. Ressler was none too pleased with the fruitless outcome of his attempts, and he shook free of her grasp of his arm with an irritated force.

"What the hell are you doing?" He hissed under his breath, just as she cornered him against the wall.

"Calm down, Ressler…"

"Look…" He pointed to the glass double-door to their right, through which they could see steady falling of snow, but none that is considered severe for traveling, "It's not that bad…we could make it out of here, if they would allow it."

"All the airports are closed."

"I'm calling Cooper," he pulled out his cellphone out of his coat pocket, "I'm sure he can arrange something."

"You could call him to give him the report, but as far as the traveling…there's nothing he can do."

"Great…just great…" Ressler held onto the phone, but took a step closer to her with a focused gaze, "And aren't you just the picture of a perfectly compliant agent…what's the deal, Keen?"

She shook her head, "I'm not gonna fight a losing fight."

"Well, call me a fool, but my antics just might get us home tonight."

"Or get us branded as assholes from DC…"

"I'm OK with that," he smirked without the warmth of jest, "Damn it…damn it all to hell."

Liz looked upon him with a heave of understanding, "Ressler, you're pissed off that it wasn't Abreuzzi…"

"Yeah, the icing on the cake…"

"The trip was a waste of time, and now we're stuck here…nothing has gone our way."

He managed to smile just faintly, "Woah, Keen, don't try to get into my head. I'll still be pissed off even if we have our man."

"Look…the office has already provided us with a place to sleep. We're stuck here for the night…so let's just accept it, and make the best of it."

"Well, I ain't making the best of some damn dingy motel room."

"It's just for one night, for cryin' out loud."

"I'm still not gonna…"

"Shut up, Ress…"

. . . . . . . .

"This is not dingy…"

"Nor a motel…"

Ressler and Liz stood, with mouths slightly agape, staring at the massive building before them just as the bureau car dropped them off at their supposed lodging for the night. What they hadn't expected was that their sleeping arrangements were at the Plaza Hotel, in all of its grandeur and splendor that somehow did not feel fitting for couple of bureau agents looking for perfunctory lodging. Liz looked around the surroundings, which was just a mere block away from the Rockefeller Center and Times Square, and she wondered how on earth they had managed to have landed there that night, at the heart of the most celebrated festivities of New Year's Eve.

"The officer did say this was the only place they could find with two available rooms…" Liz muttered under her breath, trying to avoid the throng of people already milling about, anxiously gathering for the midnight festivities. "Is this really…in the fed's budget?"

"Does it matter? I ain't complainin'…"

"That's a first."

Ressler rolled his eyes, but he couldn't mask the impish smile that crept up on his face. He obviously couldn't complain about this situation because he approved of it, completely and unabashedly. He turned to her and nudged her arm, "Let's check in, and get something to eat. I'm starved."

She followed Ressler into the hotel, and they quickly checked in to receive their respective rooms, with Liz's room situated on the fourth floor and Ressler's room on the eighth floor. They had no luggage between them, so they declined the escort of the hotel footman, and entered the elevator with the room keys in hand.

"So…you wanna grab dinner? There's a restaurant on the main level…" Ressler mumbled, nonchalantly but somewhat cautiously, as he pressed the elevator button to the fourth floor.

Liz considered his suggestion, but with not enough time to think it through, she quickly sputtered, "I think I'm gonna just order in from the room…I'm exhausted."

"Right…I was thinking to do that, too…" He nodded to her, and in the pensive silence that followed, he muttered, "I guess it's eight o'clock tomorrow, then?"

"Yup."

The elevator had now reached fourth floor, and the gold-trimmed door slid open with not a sound. Ressler placed his hand on the door to keep it open for Liz to exit, and she promptly walked out of the elevator. Seeing his hand still perched on the door, Liz turned to face Ressler, just as his body leaned toward her expectantly.

"I guess this is…good night." She couldn't help the hushed tone as she looked into his eyes, suddenly finding the situation unnerving and alarming that they will be separated. And perhaps she wasn't the only one feeling that way.

"Yeah…good night." Ressler managed a small smile, but before he took his hand off the door, he sought her out again, "Keen, my room is 812…just in case you need it."

"OK…"

"You might wanna write that down somewhere…"

"I got it, Ressler." And she looked down to her own key, "Oh, and my room is…"

"402, I know."

Of course, he did. Liz smiled at him in reassurance, "Good night, Ress."

. . . . . . . .

She stepped out of the hot shower, and wrapped herself in the cozy pink robe that was hung on the bathroom door. The shower seemed to have melted away not only the dirt and the grime of the day, but just as much of the worry and the pressure that had mounted upon her all day due to the failed case. And now, as she stood in the middle of her plush single-bed hotel room, she couldn't deny that this was a rather surprising and a sizable consolation for the frustrating chase of the pesky criminal that had yet to end.

Liz probed through the dinner menu, and placed an order for the lightly salted salmon with soup and house salad. And as she waited for the delivery of her dinner, she ventured out onto the small ledge, overlooking the Times Square that had now been filled to the brim with people celebrating the night. She smiled at the site of the now lit New Year's ball, ready to drop onto the world in about an hour. At the thought of her plan to watch this exact event unfolding on her living room TV, she couldn't believe the fortune…or is it misfortune…that had placed her at that location, at that time.

After dinner…which was just about perfect…she couldn't help but to stand by her window and watch the world mill about again. She was in Times Square, on New Year's Eve, for heaven's sakes. She could easily walk out there, if she wanted to…and she was sure there was nobody in the hotel at that moment. Who would be stupid enough to be holed up in their rooms, on that night, when they could be out there at the greatest party ever? Two people, apparently…her and Ressler…two stupid people.

"That's it…when will be the next time I'll even have this chance again?" And with that last thought, and rigid determination, Liz changed back into her clothes and threw on her black overcoat. Then she grabbed her room key, and charged outside with bounce and vigor that looked to have no regrets.

. . . . . . . .

"Keen…what…what's wrong?"

"Ressler, get dressed."

"What?"

"Get dressed."

And with that, Liz brushed past him and walked right into his room, with or without his permission. Ressler simply stared at her, perhaps thrown off by her audacity, but with furrowed brows firmly intact, he promptly closed the door behind him.

"Alright…what the hell is going on? What are you up to?" He demanded, while tightening the sash around his white robe. His hair was wet, most likely from shower, and he was in the middle of eating his steak dinner while watching some football game on TV. Liz instantly picked up the remote control and turned off the TV.

"Hey…" He protested with a scowl, "Keen, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me…or us…is that we're stuck in here while there's a party going on outside."

"What…?"

She snorted lightly, "Ressler, you can't tell me you haven't noticed we're in the middle of Times Square…on New Year's Eve."

"So?"

"So unless this is something you could so casually afford to do every year, we should be out there, right now. There's a reason why this entire hotel is empty…because we're the only people dumb enough to stay in."

"Jesus Christ, get over it, Keen."

"Ressler…"

"Let me remind you, we're on duty."

"Technically, we're not on duty. We clocked out two hours ago."

Ressler was still not having it, "Plus, I'm not going out there…I was _out there_ for the past twenty-three hours."

"When is the next time you're gonna get to see the New Year's ball drop?"

"You can't be serious…I don't care about a damn _ball_." He shook his head with a chuckle, "I was perfectly fine until you barged in here…so let's just call it a night, huh? Whatever is out there can't compare to a good night's sleep in that comfy bed…er, in our respective beds, that is…"

She rolled her eyes and huffed, sidestepping that unfortunate quip, "So, that's it, huh? The old man has spoken?"

"Yes, he has."

"Ressler…"

"Sorry, Keen. And who knows, we might get a word on our criminal…"

"You've got to be kidding me…"

"What?"

"That can't possibly be your excuse…waiting for _perhaps_ a word on a criminal." Then Liz turned toward the door, and stood with the knob in her hand, "So typical of you, Ressler."

"Wha…what are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm leaving…I'm going without you."

"Going where?"

"Outside, for cryin' out loud. You can stay with your comfy robe and your steak and your football…but I'm not missing out on the party. Believe it or not, I wouldn't mind seeing the New Year's ball in person…"

And just as she was about to open the door, Ressler took a step toward her, "Wait…"

"What?"

"You're going…by yourself?"

"Yes…I'm a grown woman, I can handle it."

"But…what if I need you? Or something…"

"Then, call me." And she opened the door with a swift gusto, "See you tomorrow morning, Ress."

"Wait, Keen…what the hell?"

. . . . . . . .

Liz didn't know why Ressler had decided to come along, but she didn't care to know at the moment in the great milieu of people thrashing at her from all directions in the middle of the block. They had made their way toward the count-down show, and even though she could hear Ressler cursing under his breath at the tight crowd, she wasn't going to let him…and his usual crabbiness…ruin the night's festivities. She didn't even mind that she was tightly pressed against him as they followed the crowd toward the New Year's ball at the center stage.

"This is insane." Ressler blasted into her ear, "Hope you're happy, because if there was a fire, we'd all be dead."

"Cut it out…"

"What? You do realize, under normal circumstances, the fire department would shut down this place…"

"Ressler, will you just pipe down on the agent man, and…" She turned sharply to face his glowering eyes, "Oh, never mind."

"And it's freezing as hell."

"Yeah, it's called winter in New York. Anyway, look…there's the ball…"

"Great, now my life's complete, and I could die in peace."

She didn't mean to, but perhaps due to the festive air about them, she couldn't help but to laugh at his churlish antics, "Your sarcasm is particularly charming tonight."

"If by charming, you mean handsome…I can't argue against that."

"Shut up, Ress…" But she was distracted by the towering clock that was perched above the crowd, "We're just in time…the count down starts in two minutes."

Ressler studied her face, and for the first time, a surprising glimmer of amusement reared on his hardened posture, "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"I am…and if you'd just quit being your crabby self…you might actually enjoy it, too."

"Yeah, well…" He looked around the show stage, "This actually isn't that bad…it's only once a year, after all."

"And to think all this is in courtesy of the bureau…"

"Sure, how can I deprive them of their generosity?" He laughed out loud, and Liz joined him, "Cooper would never, in his wildest imagination, think that we are out here. Two of his career agents, in the thick of the New Year's Eve party in the middle of Times Square."

"Well, you almost didn't make it."

"Nah, Keen…I wasn't about to let you out here by yourself."

She shot him a look of exaggerated effrontery, but its menace was stung by her fit of giggles, "I can handle it."

"No way, it's almost a health hazard…you need my manly escort."

"I think my gun is the only escort I need."

The two shared a tender release of laughter that filled her heart with shy affection and warmth, which she wouldn't deny she wanted more of, with Ressler…but she also couldn't deny that she felt a bit unsettled, being that it was with…Ressler. Here they were, huddled and pressed tightly together, feeling each other's body and heat…with the proximity almost being intimate, or of something far above what was called for in their professional relationship. And he was laughing with her, with his deep blue eyes twinkling in delight, looking down upon her as if there were some mysterious emotions behind the wall of pretense…or the wall that he tries to uphold, with the veneer cracking ever so frequently, and more easily, as he lets himself feel, even just a little.

"Keen?"

"Uh huh?" Ressler's voice boomed in her dazed thoughts, and she felt awoken by his voice in her ear, "Sorry…what?"

"The count down…it's starting."

And indeed, the massive clock above them had started the count down, and the crowd commenced in screaming in unison to the number displayed in bold red lights. Liz didn't know why, but she turned to face Ressler, and he was already looking at her, smiling broadly in delight.

Ten!

Nine!

Eight!

Seven!

Six!

Five!

Four!

Three!

Two!

One!

"Happy New Year!"

The whole crowd exploded in shouts and jubilee, with the throng of the people blowing whistles, singing, cheering, and screaming in sheer celebration. Many around them were hugging and kissing, and with the growing movements of the crowd, Liz felt more pressed into Ressler. And it was then that she became keenly aware of his hand, of which he rested firmly on her back to give her more balance. Even through her thick coat, she felt the pulsating warmth of his hand upon her, and she felt carried by the mysterious emotions of her own that overtook her mind, causing her to lean into his touch, with no regard to caution or propriety. And just when she had turned to face him, a blanket of confetti was released from somewhere above them, masking his face from her in midst of colorful paper rain.

"Happy New Year, Keen." Ressler spoke softly as soon as the confetti ceased its merciless streaming.

"Yeah…Happy New Year to you, too, Ress."

She wasn't aware of how close he was from her, but it didn't matter…as Ressler started to lean into her, ever so slowly and bashfully. And in the cyclone of deafening noises and confetti swirling about, everything surrounding them became a blur to her, like a suspended space of cacophony and fuzzy shapes. It was in that blurry state that she saw his eyes flicker quickly to her lips, and she herself felt hypnotized by the proximity of his lips…and his soft breath that curled teasingly on her face. His nose glided against her nose like a whisper, and her breath quickened in anticipation, with her eyes fluttering in nervous intensity…as she waited for him…for him to…

"We should…we should get back." Liz spoke sharply in their small space, attempting to take a step away from him, as space would allow it.

"Uh…what?"

"The party…is over. And we have to get up early tomorrow, so…"

"Right, yeah…"

"We should head back."

"Yeah…yes, we should get back to the hotel."

Ressler quickly dropped his hand from her back, and led the way through the crowd toward the hotel. Liz followed silently behind him, feeling that not a word was needed between them at the moment, and judging by his focused gaze onward, he looked to prefer a silent march himself. And in their wordless steps toward the hotel, she couldn't decide whether she had regretted it…regretted stopping Ressler from kissing her, if he was going to kiss her at all. She rested her eyes on the back of his head, with his mop of blond hair flapping in the wintry wind…and in her fluttering heart, she couldn't decide whether she should've just let him kiss her…or be content to have taken caution to their wily emotions, by choosing prudence and discretion.

They reached the hotel, and just as silently, they entered the elevator. Ressler pressed the button to her floor, but he didn't say a word, and Liz had nothing to offer him to alleviate the veiled tension. Soon, the elevator reached fourth floor, and once again, Ressler held the door for her.

"Good night, Keen." He retained a casual tone, as if the last five minutes was just a dream.

"Good night…Ressler."

But he didn't hold the door for long, for as she walked out, the elevator door slid back immediately and she was left standing in front of it. The floor was quiet and still, just as she left it an hour ago, and she walked quickly to her room. And once inside, she locked the door and dropped onto her bed, into the plush blanket that didn't soften the blow of her heart that beat wildly in the cage.

"What…what just happened? What the hell did I just do?"

. . . . . . . . .

**A/N: Just wanted to take a brief moment to thank all the readers who read my stories, whether you liked it or not. It baffles me that you'd take the time out of your precious day to read one of my ditties…thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ain****'****t Gonna Kiss You**

**Chapter 3**

"Keen, talk to me."

Ressler's gravelly voice permeated through the small walkie clutched in her hand, but Liz ignored it as she kept her steely eyes upon a certain gentleman wearing a dark overcoat. He was walking in large strides upon the muddy sidewalk, with each step becoming swifter with increasing urgency and desperation. He looked to be just about to sprint when she stepped out from behind the building and followed him, not letting him go out of her sight.

"I have the suspect in view." She spoke steadily into the walkie.

"What's your location?"

"4th and Westminster, heading west."

And just like that, two black SUVs appeared at the end of the street, blazing toward the man who had now frantically surveyed the surroundings, inadvertently making eye contact with Liz just as she picked up her pace. He knew she was after him, and that's when she started running with her gun drawn.

"Abraham Abreuzzi, you need to stop! I will shoot you!"

But just as she had expected, his pace picked up to a frenetic sprint, sharply turning into an alleyway just as the SUVs came to a screeching halt half a block away. Liz ran after him, down the dilapidated alleyway, keeping the flapping overcoat in view. He was surprisingly an agile runner for his old age, and he expertly dodged and leaped over several strewn items on the ground. Obviously, he wasn't new to the getaway tactics.

"Keen, where are you?" Ressler's voice bellowed from the walkie, and she brought it to her lips in midst of the breathless hustle.

"The suspect is on foot!"

"Location?"

"In an alleyway," she looked around for any markings, "South…south of Belvedere. Toward the train tracks."

"I'm on my way, keep him in view!"

"That's what I'm trying to do!" She didn't mean to add in the last quip, but Ressler stating the obvious didn't bode well with her during this strenuous chase. Just what did he think she was going to do…stop for a drink of water?

"Son of a…" She gasped as Abruezzi started to climb up the metal fence, and even though she was instructed to apprehend the suspect alive, she drew her gun toward him, determined to not lose him this time. "Freeze! I will shoot you!"

But he was bold and perhaps too determined to retract. He disregarded her warning, and continued the climb, until he jumped down the remaining distance to the other side. She didn't want to shoot him, but she had to act fast; the chase of this criminal had to stop that day, right then and there. She considered shooting him in the leg, and shouted, "Don't make me shoot you!"

But it was Ressler who beat her to it. He came bounding from the adjacent alleyway, and came crashing down upon Abruezzi, forcefully hurdling him to the ground. The old man had no chance as Ressler pinned him to the ground, with his firm hand pressing down upon Abruezzi's chest, while the other hand held a pointed gun. "Not a muscle…don't even think about it."

Abreuzzi must've felt he met more than his match as he didn't resist, and relegated his wrists to be handcuffed. Liz watched all this unfold on the other side of the fence, and with a heave of relief, she placed her gun in the holster.

"Keen?" Ressler called out as soon as the criminal was handcuffed and was secure against the fence.

"I'm alright." She made a brief eye contact with Ressler, and he gave two rigid nods toward her direction.

"Call it in."

She held her walkie to her mouth and clicked on the switch, "The suspect is in custody."

. . . . . . . . .

"What the hell is that?"

Liz didn't see Ressler until Abruezzi was escorted away, and they had reconvened at the far end of the street where he had parked his black SUV. She had waited for him for a ride back to the headquarters, but upon first sight, Ressler tugged at her shirt sleeve, around her elbow area.

"That's blood…"

She pulled on the sleeve for a better look, "You're right…I didn't even know how…"

"It's a sizable gash…not too deep, though," he was bent over at her elbow, examining with his fingers lightly pressed against her bare skin. She was completely unaware that her shirt was torn and she had been bleeding, "It's a flesh wound, but you should still get this checked out. How did you get this anyhow?"

"I don't know…maybe when I was running. I must've bumped into something…"

"Hmm…" Ressler walked around her with his eyes scanning her body, perhaps to see if she had other injuries she was not aware of. Liz stood stiff under his gaze, startlingly feeling bare and conscious under his probing eyes. She didn't even know why she felt the heat rise up to her cheeks, to what surely would've looked to be an ill-fitted blushing.

"That seems to be the only war injury you've got…," he muttered while facing her, "it needs stitches. I gotta take you in."

"Nah, I can hardly feel it."

"You won't be saying that in about an hour."

"Oh, Jesus…it just needs couple of bandages."

With a faint scowl settling on his forehead, Ressler pulled out the cellphone from the holster and proceeded to dial, all without uttering a word to Liz. She simply shook her head, already knowing who he was calling and what he was doing.

"Sir, Keen needs a medic. I'll be taking her in." He had reached Cooper, as presumed, "Looks to be minor, but it needs stitches and dressing…Yes, sir…"

"Let's go." He hardly looked as her as he put away his phone, and climbed into their SUV. He was apparently in a hurry, and didn't care for any of her words upon the subject. He must've known she'd protest, but with Cooper's orders, she knew he'd treat her as an irrelevant party to the circumstance. Liz got into the car, but not without a slam of the door with an annoyed flair.

"Great…thanks for including me in the conversation."

. . . . . . . .

After an hour at the hospital and nine stitches upon her upper arm, they were headed back to the black site, with Ressler driving as usual. It was close to four o'clock in the late afternoon, and Liz sat leaning into her carseat, wincing from the throbbing pulse of her injury and the exhaustion of the day sneaking into her entire body. Ressler was right…the cut on her arm hurt like hell after an hour, and although the doctor gave her a shot of codeine, the injury was proving to be pesky and wanting attention.

"Are you feeling better?" Ressler turned to her during a red-light stop, glancing at how she was clutching onto the prescribed ointment.

"Yeah, much better." She fibbed, just to avoid having him make a fuss…if he was going to, that is. She wasn't in the mood to listen to his expert discourse on how to best treat a flesh wound.

"Good." He smiled broadly at her, and she couldn't help but to notice that his countenance had markedly changed since before the hospital visit. Now he was smiling at her, in a rather cheerful and chipper kind of way…a very rare and unusual sighting of the side that only she got to see, in the privacy of their company. Something must've put him in a good mood, she thought. Perhaps it was the apprehending of the criminal who had deftly dodged them for close to a month.

She was relieved as well, no doubt about that. Abraham Abruezzi had costed them a near-freezing death during the night surveillance on Christmas Eve, and forced them to be stranded…but very well accommodated…in New York on the night of the New Year's Eve. At the memory of the latter night, Liz threw a quick furtive glance at Ressler, driving with a dopey grin of mysterious origin. It's been a week since then, and she remembered clearly of every detail…how he had leaned in to kiss her, just as the clock hit midnight. She had replayed the scene over and over again, often persuaded by the probability that he was just carried by the festive emotions of the surroundings, feeling compelled to kiss her because…everyone else was kissing. It couldn't possibly be that he wanted to kiss her because of feelings or such. Surely, he didn't have feelings for her…can't be…

But it didn't matter how she felt about it, because Ressler had not said a word about it since then. Even on the morning of the "incident", he treated her just as he had on any other occasions…nothing but bureau business at hand. Whereas she was embarrassed and flustered, he was curt and dismissive, urgently wanting to get back to DC, as if he couldn't leave behind the memories fast enough. There was not a nod, an acknowledgment, or even a sliver of regret; it was best to be forgotten of, and never to be spoken of.

"So, wanna grab something to eat?"

"Uh, what?" Ressler's low voice awoke her from the memories of ill steps back.

"Dinner? Feeling up to it?"

"It's barely four o'clock…bit of an odd time for dinner, isn't it?"

He noted the small clock on the radio, "Right…I just thought maybe you wanted something…like soup?"

"Soup? What is that…food for the invalid?"

He laughed with an obvious amusement, "Don't give me a hard time about it, Keen. I'm just saying…soup sounds good for the injured."

"It's hardly an injury."

"Don't give me that…right about now, you want another shot of codeine, I know."

Liz didn't reply to him, or rather admit that he was right. He took her silence as a confirmation, and nodded to her way, "It'll take couple of days to get used to the stitches…but tonight will be a long night of nursing that baby."

"I can handle it," she waved the little box in her hand with sarcasm thrown in, "I got my _ointment_…I'm good to go."

Ressler laughed again, and this time, heartier than the last. "Hey, Keen, by the way…I can't tell you how good it felt to put those handcuffs on Abruezzi. Good job today…you earned your battle scars."

"Wasn't going to let him get away…I'm done chasing after that man."

"Took us about a month to catch the bastard, didn't it?"

"Yup."

"Gotta hand it to him, though. He was smart…but not smart enough." He tapped on the steering wheel in an odd pause, then turned to face her, "We should…go celebrate."

"Celebrate what…that we caught the guy?"

"Yeah…"

"How…you mean with…drinks?"

"Something like that." He looked away with a faint air of unease and timidity, "I don't know…I feel good about putting away that son of a bitch. I feel like celebrating."

"Ressler, if we had drinks every time we put away criminals, we'd be regular alcoholics."

"You do realize we've never had drinks together," he offered sheepishly. "One drink is not gonna tarnish your good reputation…"

Liz wasn't sure what to make of Ressler's persistence, seeing that he had been essentially keeping her at arm's length during the entire last week. She wouldn't have minded having drinks with him, in full honesty, but this rather uncharacteristic demeanor unnerved her, enough for her to retreat to where she deemed safe and shielded from unforeseen surprises.

"Tough crowd today…what does a man gotta do to get a drink with the lady?" He persevered, and this time with veil of jest. And although she offered a chuckle for his sake, she couldn't help but to wonder what he was really thinking…and feeling.

"Ressler…maybe not today. Had an eventful day, in case you haven't noticed…," she raised her stitched up arm and waved it a slight, although she was hiding behind a benign injury to attempt as an excuse.

"Are you sure? Because the request doesn't come very often…" His voice took on a jovial tone, but it wasn't too difficult to detect a tinge of disappointment.

"Yeah, I'm sure…"

"Well, you're lucky…because I'm man enough to rise above a rejection."

"Not surprised," she was expecting some sort of a sarcastic quip, "I knew I could count on you."

"If there was ever _one_ thing you could count on…that was it."

"Good to know…"

"So…drinks, next time?"

She turned to his face with a small grin, but this time he kept his eyes on the road. She already knew there won't be a next time, "Yeah, sure…next time."

. . . . . . . . .

"You leaving soon?"

"Yup, in a minute…"

Ressler stretched his arms wide and stood up from his chair, and retrieved his coat hung on the door, "Let's get outta here."

"Right…"

Liz didn't know why or how, but she had always exited the office together with Ressler, and it was a bit of a curious habit that neither was looking to break. Even when they had argued or disagreed about a case, they've always managed to leave together, usually with Ressler waiting for her. And tonight was none the different, and even with the "drinks after" that came to naught, Ressler waited for her at the door of the office, patiently looking over her as she cleaned up her desk.

They rode the elevator in silence, as they usually do, and as soon as the door opened on the ground level, Liz turned to Ressler to bid him goodbye, as she usually does at that spot. But before she could speak, he faced her and oddly interjected, "Where's your car?"

"Off to the right…"

"I'll walk you." And he proceeded to walk towards the very direction she had pointed, and although she followed him compliantly, she stared at the back of his head with unease and bewilderment. He had never, even once, walked her to her car…as this was an unspoken gesture of intimacy that their work relationship did not call for. Just what the hell was he up to?

"How's your arm?" He slowed down a pace, to keep in step with her wary strides.

"It's fine."

"As I said, sleeping with that beauty tonight won't be easy."

"Great..."

"You might wanna take some pain meds before you…"

"Got it, Ress…I can handle it." She didn't mean to cut him off, and she immediately regretted her curt tone. She couldn't even understand why she felt that way…burdened and overwhelmed by his dogged show of concern. She should be flattered…but she just couldn't let herself so. Because perhaps she was assuming too much, of whether he was concerned for her as a work colleague…or dare she wonder, as someone who stirred close to his heart.

They had reached her car, and she unwittingly fished for the keys in her bag. "Bye, Ress…see you in the morning."

"Yeah…" But he didn't move an inch, let alone a step. He stayed still upon the spot, and with a rather grim look about his face, she eyed him with the apprehension of what was coming.

"Look, Keen…we need to talk."

"OK…"

"It's about a week ago, in New York…"

"Alright…"

"I've been meaning to tell you, umm…I need to apologize for what happened. I should've never…"

He paused a breath, or long enough to divert his eyes to his feet. She waited for him, looking intently at his face that now bore a countenance of flustered timidity. She herself had hardly noticed whether she was breathing or not. "I should've never…tried to kiss you."

"That's…well, that's…" She wasn't sure what she was trying to say, but if he was offering an apology, she was ready to give a quick pardon for it.

"That was completely out of line, completely uncalled for. And I know it put you in a difficult position…and I apologize for that."

"No, it's…"

"I don't know…all I can say is that I just wasn't thinking. I was half frozen, after all…and everything around us was…insane. But regardless, I shouldn't have done it, and it won't happen again."

"Ressler…"

"So, you don't have to be afraid of me."

"I could never be afraid of you."

At those words, he met her eyes, probing into her emotions as best as he could, "I mean, I can understand why you would be…hesitant to go have drinks with me. In case I make a wrong move or something…"

"No, that's not why…"

"But, let me assure you, I would never do anything to jeopardize our work and our partnership. You have my word on it."

"Really, it wasn't…"

"Keen, I'm just glad that you had the right of mind to…" She was certain he was talking about how she pulled back from him, "I mean, I can't imagine what would've happened if we did…"

"That would've been…" She still had no idea what she was trying to say, but felt compelled to agree with wherever he was leading her.

"Nuts…I mean, talk about stupid bad move. It would throw everything into, just…"

"Just..."

"That would be the end of our partnership…just making everything damn complicated, just mucking it all up. It'd have been a…dumb move to our careers."

"A dumb move...for sure."

"I'm not blind, I know how others look at us…constantly pairing us up, just because we're partners. That damn mistletoe thing, and…I mean, fine, we're both single but that doesn't mean that we…"

She held her breath in anticipation of what he'd say next, "No, it doesn't mean that we…"

"Two people can be partners, without any of these damn emotional hang-ups…even if, between us, there's this…" Ressler stopped just before she was sure he was going to say something he might regret. He was wise, just in time, to change course, "We're too complicated anyway…"

"Yeah…complicated..."

"Too much in the past, you know. You have your…and I have my…" She nodded in full comprehension of what he was trying to say without having to hear his words. He was referring to her past with Tom, and his past with Audrey. "And we're still a mess…at least I am."

"Well…"

"And we can't very well put my mess with your mess…that sounds like a sure thing of a disaster." He shook his head in realization, "And way too much baggage, you know. Between you and me, there's enough baggage to fill up a damn airport."

"That's…one way of putting it."

"And can you imagine the work we have to put into…I mean, not that I'm in anyway saying that we're…or we should…" He was starting to stammer a bit, "As I was saying, it's a bad idea."

"I get what you're saying."

"So…"

"And I agree with you." She wasn't fully sure what she was agreeing to, but it sounded like Ressler had all but planned out the course of their relationship, and she felt no other option except to comply. It was still a whirl of words that was somewhat too fuzzy to understand, but he seemed quite convicted…and she didn't have the will or the tenacity to argue otherwise. Perhaps that night just needed to end, and after a good night's rest, who knew what contrary thoughts may appear in the midst.

"Alright, then…good…" Her agreement to his words didn't seem to ease his flustered anxiety, but he did produce a small smile.

"Yeah…good…"

"Well, in that case…"

"Umm…I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then." The awkward fidget had fully reduced them to two teenagers who didn't know what to do with themselves.

"Yeah, I'll see you…good bye, Keen."

"Bye, Ressler."

. . . . . . . . .

It's been a month since their fateful talk, and Liz had to give credit to Ressler, for he had been a consummate professional, if not veering a bit too much. He kept his strict distance from all areas of personal realm, and avoided even the remotely peripheral of it. He was an exceptional partner as ever was and rigorously kept to the business at hand, particularly during the car rides in which, in the past, had been filled with his sarcastic jostling as a welcomed escape from the drone of work. He still kept up waiting for her after work, but she was beginning to think that perhaps it had become a forced duty for him.

It wasn't until the end of the month when he approached her with a look that was markedly different than that of work appropriate, "Keen, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Yeah, sure."

He closed the door of their office, and hesitantly walked toward her, finally deciding to lean on the low bookcase behind her chair. "I have a bit of a favor to ask you."

"Sure, what is it?"

"I don't mean to put you in a position…I want you to know that you don't have to agree to do it…I'd completely respect your decision, whatever it may be."

"Ressler…" By his serious tone, she was starting to think perhaps he needed a kidney donation, "What do you need?"

"I want you to know that it'd be perfectly fine if you can't…"

"Alright…"

"And I wouldn't ask you…if I had other choice, which I absolutely don't. I'm pretty desperate here."

"You're killing me, Ress…just spill it."

He took a big gulp of air, as if it gave him a sliver of assurance, "I need a...date."

"A what?"

"A good buddy of mine from the Academy is getting married, and I wasn't gonna go…but he called me last week, and…"

"And now you have to go."

"Well, yeah…but the thing is, I don't mind going alone."

"Then, what's the problem?"

Ressler studied her briefly, perhaps still debating whether he should tell her anything at all. "The problem is…he wants to introduce me to one of his cousins, and I'm not feeling that, you know. I'm not sitting with some stranger all afternoon, forced into some damn small talk."

"Oh, Jesus…so, you need me along to keep you from…small talk with a stranger?"

"Basically…although it didn't sound that simple in my head."

Liz shouldn't have, but just couldn't help snickering at his odd predicament. His face fell downtrodden at her being entertained at his expense, "Keen, I wouldn't have asked you if it wasn't serious…I see you have no compassion for your fellow single folk…"

"Sorry...sorry…I just find this completely uncharacteristic of you…"

"Oh, really…"

"Have you tried being your usual blunt self, just telling your buddy that you're not interested in this cousin of his?"

"Hell, Keen…if it was that easy, would I place myself here now, at your mercy of most cruel indifference?"

"Alright, alright…"

"You'll be doing me a huge favor, Keen…"

"You said that already."

"So, what do you say? Your partner is begging here…"

Liz eyed him with feigned suspicion, dangling the delayed temptation before his hopeful regard, "When is this wedding?"

"This Saturday."

"In two days…way to plan ahead, Ressler."

He exhaled deeply, heavy with annoyed suspense, "I know, I know…"

"Don't you know you need to give a girl at least a week to get ready for a party?"

"So, is that a yes or what?"

. . . . . . . .

**A/N: Thank you for reading this little story! And less than a month away from the return of the Blacklist!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Ain't Gonna Kiss You**

**Chapter 4**

"Hey, Keen…"

"Hey…"

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah…let me just grab my keys."

Liz hadn't expected to see Ressler at her door, and by his shy discomfiture upon seeing her, she was tempted to ask if anything was wrong. He had picked her up countless times before, and the usual custom was that he'd call her on the phone, with the terse declaration that he was waiting in the car. He had never, not even once, had come up to her door to pick her up, and not that she had ever expected him to. Coming up to the lady's door to escort her signified an established understanding…of certain courtship intimacy…of a nature which she'd never presume between her and Ressler. Perhaps he thought this was an occasion called for such a gesture; he did call it a date once, but since then he was quick to call it a favor upon a partner. No, this was not a date…not in that strict sense of the word, or of any sense whatsoever.

She was in firm belief that Ressler was just playing the part of a grateful beneficiary, and mindlessly followed him down the corridor of her apartment building. She even allowed him to open the double-door for her, but that trivial custom she was willing to accept without hesitation, for he had done that countless times before. But when he opened the car door for her, Liz didn't mean to, but her steps halted in befuddlement and caution. As this was the very first time that he had opened the car door for her, such a gesture absolutely threw all her faculties in a spin of perplexity. Just what the hell was he thinking? What did he think this was…a date?

"Are you alright?" He peered into her face and sought her downcast eyes, "Is something wrong?"

"No…no…"

"Jesus Christ, Keen…are you gonna get all weirded out every time I do something remotely gentlemanly?"

Nope, this was not a date…what was _she_ thinking? "Can't help it if your sudden manners throw me off."

"Well, get used to it. We are going to a wedding after all."

"Didn't think a brute beast can be refined for any occasion."

"Funny…"

Ressler got into the car and started the engine, but paused a bit before the car lurched ahead, "Anyway, Keen…thanks again for doing this. I really do appreciate it."

"It's not free, you know…you owe me."

"And I'm sure you'll hold me to it," he smiled just as he stepped on the gas pedal, "By the way, I don't know if I told you…the wedding is in Lexington Park."

"No, you didn't tell me…"

"The drive is about two hours."

"Great…" Liz wondered what other detail he'd be telling her at the last minute…he did talk to her about the wedding merely two days ago. So typical of a man to be so conveniently and dimly forgetful.

"So…I thought maybe we can discuss what we should say to people," he glanced at her quickly at the red light.

"What we should say?"

"All of my friends are bureau agents…needless to say, they are sharper than they look."

Her face bore a sharp scowl, with an unconcealed guise of objection, "What…are you afraid that I may say something that would embarrass you?"

"No, it's so that we can give them a…coordinated information."

"A what?"

He exhaled deeply as if he was annoyed at her inability to understand, or her inability go along with whatever he was trying to do without arguing. "Let's just…first off, you should call me Don…or Donnie."

"Donnie, huh?"

"All of my academy buddies call me Donnie," he shot her a brief side peek. "You could stick with Don."

"Yup, I think that's best."

"And…how should I introduce you?"

"Partners…what else?"

He bit his lower lip, as if thinking over what she had just said. And she could already tell that he wasn't pleased with her quick answer, "Don't you think that sounds awkward?"

"I mean, that is who we are. What other option is there?"

"We're at a damn wedding, for cryin' out loud." He shook his head in firm resolution, "Hey everyone, this is Liz…my bureau partner. Does that sound right to you?"

"Co-worker?"

"Great…everyone, this is Liz, I work with her on the same floor."

"Fine…how about colleagues?"

"That's about as sterile as work acquaintances."

"Oh, Jesus…" Liz didn't think this day had to be this complicated, "How about friends?"

"Friends…" He mulled it over while scratching his chin, "That sounds like some damn chick flick. Do I look like I'd bring a _friend_ to a wedding?"

"Then what the hell would you like? This isn't exactly a date, you know."

"I know that…"

"How about just Liz?" She was now becoming downright flustered, "Introduce me as Liz…just that, nothing more and nothing less."

"Nah…my buddies…they're gonna be wondering just who the hell you are. They're going to interrogate me until I tell them something more."

"Tell them you met me at work."

"And?"

"That's it. Let them draw their own conclusions if they want to."

"It's not that simple, Keen." Ressler scoffed at Liz with disapproval, "You don't know these guys…they're gonna suspect something's up."

"That's their problem. Let them think whatever they want to…you just don't make a big deal out of it. They'll drop it eventually, all mysteries become dull after awhile."

"No…no…these guys are going to hound me until…," he halted suddenly, as if he was struck by a flash of brilliance, "I have an idea…but you're not gonna like it."

"What…what is it?"

Ressler checked her face with cautious hesitation, and when he was met with a probing glare equally as cautious, he muttered, "Nah…it's nothing."

"What is it? Tell me…"

"It's nothing…," but his tone was light and tenuous, as if the idea was not a nothing after all. "It's actually pretty…stupid. But it'd shut them up for sure."

"Great…now I can't wait to hear it."

"Just go with it, will ya, Keen? It ain't gonna kill you…"

"Fine…whatever. What the hell is this idea?"

"Relax…"

"I am relaxed!"

"Alright, alright…just hear me out," Ressler cleared his throat, in a odd show of fumbling timidity, "I'm gonna tell my buddies that I am…interested in you, and that's why I brought you to the wedding."

"Are you kidding me? Is this some kind of a joke?" Liz knew her tone was too harsh, but if he thought she could be strung along for some frat boys' game of chauvinist wager, he had no idea what awakened beast was coming.

"Hey, before you get all G.I. Jane on me, listen…"

"If you're gonna reference me, I prefer John McClane…"

"Fine…John McClane," Ressler snorted with a faint chuckle. "Look, if I tell my buddies some made up stories about who you are, they're gonna know right away. They could sniff my lies like a dog on a Kibbles and Bits."

"By that logic, they're gonna know you're lying…because your supposed interest in me is…"

"Right, but it isn't something that I have to try so hard to pretend…"

"What?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't know what you mean."

"Jesus, Keen…this sixth sense of yours is not only overrated, but it's close to non-existent." He turned to her with an accusatory glare, "Or do you just enjoy giving me a hard time?"

"The latter. Definitely, the latter."

"I suppose I was the fool to ask," he shook his head in a mild jest. "As I was saying, it's an easier sell if I pretend to have an interest in you…I just have to be nice to you for the next four hours."

"While I'd be curious to see how you could pretend to be interested in me, for the next four hours, as you say…but is this really necessary?"

"Keen…you don't know those guys. They're gonna know something's up between us if I don't say anything."

"And the concept of two people being…just friends…is absolutely a foreign idea."

"Basically. And you thought I was the brute beast…you're about to meet the entire litter."

"Wonderful…and how do you guys compete with all the other Renaissance men?"

"A what?"

"Nevermind."

Although Liz felt quite at unease about the idea of pretense, she found herself oddly relegating to the suggestion that was borne of Ressler's mind that took to regard his pack of unrefined cavemen friends. It was for mere hours of an afternoon, after all. And it sounded like the pretense aspect solely belonged to Ressler, as she was only required to be the compliant object of his affection. Really, there was nothing demanded of her at all. It wouldn't be that bad…would it? What can possibly go wrong?

"I'm just curious," she broke in after some time of silent drive. "How many weddings have you gone to?"

"Let's see…Wells, Buckanski, Martinez, Harris, and hmm…just about eight. Eight in total."

"Woah, that's quite a few."

"Yup. Everyone's getting old, you know…and settling down."

"And how many women have you brought to these weddings?"

He paused in a quiet contemplation, and kept his eyes fixed upon the road, "You're the second woman, Keen."

"Oh…" She shouldn't have asked that…she should've known it would be Audrey. Damn it…and now what must she say? "I see why your buddies would make such a big stink of you bringing me today."

"Yup."

"They want what's best for you."

"Yeah…they may not be refined, as your definition goes, but they're good guys. I grew up with them, and I trust them with my life."

"And now they're settling down, getting married…having kids…"

"Yup, the bastards…"

"And I bet they're eager to have you get married off, too."

"Hence the cousin thing."

"You know," she tapped his shoulder playfully, "who knows if she turns out to be an attractive lady?"

"Nah…I'm not doing any of that at a wedding, when just about every nosy eyeballs are on me."

"You should at least check her out."

"Keen…you should know, that's not my style."

"What _is_ your style, Ressler?"

He chuckled with a wide grin, but didn't offer a reply to that inquiry, as she had expected. She had to take a lesser road approach, "So, speaking of settling down…"

"Jesus, Keen…I knew this would happen."

"What?"

"Stuck in a car for two hours…I knew you just couldn't resist the chance at third degree…"

"Hey, I'm just trying to have a conversation here."

"Right…"

"If I have to sit through this wedding, sit through your buddies oggling at me…which I'm sure they will…and sit through pretending to be the object of your most unfortunate affection…"

"Geez, thanks…"

"The very least you can do is let me be entertained, for once." Liz stated resolutely, "And one more thing…due to the previously stated stipulations, I believe I call the shots now."

"So, now you're the boss, is that it?"

"That, I am."

"Unbelievable," he laughed along, understanding that she spoke only in jest. "Fine…I'm willing to be interrogated, but under one condition."

"What is it?"

"That you get to answer every question I answer. Deal?"

"Easy enough…fine, it's a deal. I've got nothing to hide."

"Sure, Keen…sure."

"And I get nothing but full honesty from you?"

"You have my word. And you?"

"You got it."

Ressler glanced at her sideways, but by his easy grin, he didn't look too apprehensive of being thrown in the interrogation den, "Now that's all settled…what's my first allegation?"

"Uh huh…," she dismissed his sarcastic quip, "l'll start with an easy one. Do you think about getting married…settling down some time?"

At that moment, Liz couldn't understand why she found herself squirming in her seat, feeling her cheeks becoming reddened by the awkward tension that she couldn't explain, even to herself. Perhaps it was the nature of the conversation that had now taken the turn to…personal…way more personal…and she wasn't sure if she could even avail herself to this kind of questioning. It was perfectly acceptable when they were bickering and playing along some game of half-truths and half-insults…but now, it felt like this was for real. Some real questions will be asked, and some real truths had to come out. She was curious to hear it from Ressler, but was she ready herself? Was she ready to dole out some truth…or should she keep some things hidden?

"That's it? That's your first question?" Ressler chided her with a disapproving squint, "That's too easy. The answer is yes…next?"

"Ressler…"

"Of course, I am…that's all I want, you know, a family. I'd quit this job if I have to."

"You would?" It took her by surprise that Ressler would contemplate quitting this job, seeing that there was no one else more dedicated...and maniacal...about it.

"Well…maybe," he shrugged his shoulders lightly. "Who knows…but there isn't anything I wouldn't do to protect my family."

"Right…"

"So, how about you, Keen?"

"Yeah, someday…"

"Ah, come on…you've gotta give me more than that." He glanced at her for the entire duration of the red light, as if he was examining her, "Have you thought about re-entering the dating pool any time soon? Go on some blind dates? Or maybe Red can introduce you to some dapper criminal…handsome and dangerous, that's your type, isn't it?"

"Shut up, Ress…"

"Alright, alright…with all kidding aside, you've gotta start somewhere, Keen. You gotta get out there, you know…you can't live in the safety blanket of uncle Red forever, because that ain't gonna last."

"And since when did you start writing a dating column, Mr. Relationship Expert? Never mind the glaring fact that you really should be following your own advice."

"Hey, I'm out there…"

"Really…"

"I am…in my own way."

"Burying your ass in work, and using that as an excuse that you don't have time for anything else…that's not being out there."

Ressler eyed her with wary suspicion, etched with a hint of vulnerability that made Liz hesitate for a breath. But she dared forward, "Rejecting a set-up because you don't like small talk…that's not being out there."

"I knew it was wise to tell you about that one…"

"Insisting that you have a particular taste in women, and hiding behind that as an excuse as to why you haven't met the right ones…yeah, that's not being out there."

"Anything else?"

"One more thing…being afraid that you may not protect those you love because of this job, and pushing everyone away because of that fear…that's not being out there."

"Gotta hand it to you, Keen," he wore a prickly smirk on his face, of which she couldn't tell whether he was amused or sullen. "That's a nice list you got there…too bad it's all bunch of nonsense."

"Or a bunch that makes sense." Liz replied meekly, suddenly finding herself regretful that perhaps she had gone too far with him. His turn for a hushed response brought a sharp reminder that essentially they were work partners, and it was none of her damn business or concern how he lived his personal life. She breathed in deeply, to rein in the already a train wreck mess of emotions, and scolded herself to behave…and retain some semblance of professionalism…as they were, again, strictly work partners.

"Alright…I have a question." Ressler's voice cracked into the dull silence as they drove without a word for some time, "Would you…would you ever date a co-worker?"

"A what?" That wasn't a request for clarification, but rather it was more of a startled reaction to his bold question.

"You know, someone who you work with. Would you ever consider, umm…dating?"

"No," Liz didn't know what compelled her to respond so quickly, and so curtly. "Absolutely not."

"Really…not even if you feel a good connection with him…have similar outlook in life…you have good times together…"

"Nope, I'd never consider it."

"Why not?"

"Too messy. I just have this…code. Never mix personal with professional." Liz stated with a veil of finality, all the while knowing she sounded hoarse and brittle, trying desperately to hide her fluttering heart...and the fact that she was fibbing through her teeth.

"Yeah…I could see why some people would live by that code. Certainly makes things a lot easier."

"So you wouldn't either, huh?"

"Well…," he nodded in contemplation, "I would be lying if I said I haven't thought about it."

Liz kept her eyes on the road ahead, feeling all of her senses alerted and anxiously waiting upon what he could possibly say. She didn't dare look at him, cowering with timidity that perhaps he could see right through her…right through every thud and pulse of her heart.

"I gotta say, if I met the right person, I might be willing to break all the rules." Ressler snorted softly, "I used to live by this code and that code…but, as you say, that's not being out there, you know. But, really…if I met the right person, there's no way I'm letting her get away, because of some stupid code."

"Uh huh…"

"Wouldn't you agree with that?"

"Sure.."

"What do you mean, _sure_? Keen, don't be living by some code that you might regret later, especially those that you made up to keep your life tightly organized into neat stuffy compartments. Those are bound to get knocked over."

"You're starting to sound like my dad."

"Well, we are both very wise men. Best you heed to our words."

"Funny…"

It was then that Liz noticed the car swerved to the right, making a smooth exit off of the main road. Ressler turned to her with an eager smile, "We're almost there…about twenty minutes away."

"Good…" She stretched out her legs and unruffled her dress underneath the heavy coat she was wearing. Given that she only had two days to get something fitting to wear, she chose a dark green silk dress, hoping it was festive enough for a winter wedding. But now, she was afraid the dress was a mess of wrinkles from sitting in the car for so long. At least it wasn't snowing today, and the temperature was pleasantly balmy for the dead of winter. "It's a nice weather today, for a wedding."

"Yup. I'm glad it didn't snow, so the roads are dry." He kept his smile, perhaps the imminent end to that long drive had put him in a good mood, "Alright…we have just enough time for one more question."

"Ooh, let's make it juicy…it has to be worth our time."

"I have one," he chuckled, "it's definitely juicy…but you might not approve of it."

"Oh, why the hell not…fire away."

"If you say so…," Ressler threw a quick scan of her face, then proceeded guardedly. "Do you…do you ever wonder what would've happened if we did kiss that night?"

"Ressler…"

"I mean, I know we both agreed that it was best it didn't happen…I get that. But…you know…what if it did? What if it just did? You can't tell me that thought didn't enter your mind."

Liz simply left her mouth agape, feeling absolutely bereft of what would be a fitting response to his daring assertion. What can she possibly say? Of course, she had thought about that moment…a million times, in fact. Did she regret stopping him from kissing her? No, absolutely not…but perhaps, yes…why not, yes. And what would've happened if he did kiss her? Would she have slapped his face? Perhaps yes, but perhaps no. Then would she have abandoned all control and decorum…and pull him into her hotel room…just for that night, and who the hell cares the next morning? Perhaps yes…why not, yes…

By her silence and the refusal to look at him, Ressler must've felt regrettable that he may have made her feel uncomfortable, "Hey, Keen…I'm sorry. We've already talked about it before…and took care of it already…so it's not fair rehashing it. Sorry…I'm being an ass…stupid…"

But before Liz could say a word in between, the car took a sharp turn through a wide metal gate, toward a large white mansion up ahead. She stared at the massive building in view, suddenly speechless in the majestic beauty of the endless green fields and the cloudless sky that illuminated the expanse. She couldn't help but to think back to her wedding day to Tom, how they had settled on a small church with just a handful of family. And now, seeing the grandeur of a large wedding, she wondered if perhaps this was what she'd prefer now.

"Crap, we're late…we better hurry. Get out, now…let's go."

"Coming…Jesus." Liz shook her coat as she climbed out of the car, hurriedly following Ressler who had somehow lost the gentlemanly manners in the wake of being late. She should've known better than to expect such a behavior…or a promise…to last long.

It did indeed look to be that they were the last to arrive at the church, and as soon as they stepped through the large wooden door, they were escorted to the last available pew in the back. They were able to squeeze in next to another couple, with whom Ressler exchanged a silent nod. Liz gave them a polite smile, but already she could feel their critical eyes over her, most likely wondering who the hell had arrived with their golden boy…their _single_ golden boy.

"So, you're friends with the groom?" Liz leaned against Ressler and whispered into his ear, although they were already seated quite close, enough for their shoulders to touch…and enough for her to breathe in a whiff of his musky cologne.

"Yup. That's Stevie."

"Stevie?"

"_Steven_."

"He must have a large family. This is a very big wedding."

"What…you don't like big weddings?"

"No…no…it's just…there's a lot of people."

"Wait until the reception…it's gonna be insane. There's gonna be plenty of booze, that's for sure…and people just partying it up."

"Partying it up?"

"What? Am I too old to say that?"

"Yes…yes, you are."

Liz studied the groom, curious over the man who had known Ressler for so long, and she wondered how Ressler would've been like at the Academy…what kind of a young man he might've been ten years ago. She stole a quick look at his face, and she surmised perhaps his hair would've been looser, maybe a bit longer and unkempt. She could also see him being athletic, probably running around, and playing sports like football and baseball. She was certain he was very disciplined in his studies…but was he also a typical young man of his age, foolish with his friends and wily with young girls?

"Hey, Keen…by the way, there's gonna be dancing at the reception. And I want you to know, I don't dance…so don't take it personally if I don't dance with you."

Ressler whispered into her ears, sufficiently jolting her out of her whimsical fancy. She stammered, "Believe me, I won't take it as an offense. Actually…"

"What?"

"I won't require you to dance with me under one condition."

"Oh, Jesus…isn't anything for free these days?"

"You don't have to dance with me…if you meet Steven's cousin, and talk to her."

"Hell…"

"Come on, Ress…I'm not asking you to marry her. Just meet her…and see where it goes."

"Fine, I'll meet her…_maybe_…but that's it. You are incorrigible, you know that?"

"And you're welcome."

. . . . . . . . .

"You OK?"

"Yeah…"

The wedding had been long over, and after spending about an hour, standing on her high heels, meeting the whole brood of his Academy buddies, they were finally able to sit at their round table in the reception hall. At that point, Liz could only remember just a couple of his friends' names, but as her feet indulged in the soothing relief of finding gravity off the ground, she couldn't care less about all the fuzzy memories. Even the tenacious oggling of curious eyes didn't bother her as she took a sip of cold champagne poured into a tall glass.

"Hey, umm…you look really nice today…by the way." Ressler hardly looked at her when he offered that mild compliment.

"Thanks…"

"I may be the most envied man here, next to the groom."

"You don't look too bad yourself." Liz nudged him with a playful smile, and indeed, she couldn't deny that Ressler looked particularly...handsome that day. He was wearing his usual garb of sharply fitted navy suit, but he had chosen a rich turquoise tie, which brought out the sparkling blue tint of his lively eyes. But it had to be more than just his tie...there was something else...something else that made him appear undeniably attractive and charming. "You cleaned up rather nicely."

"If you mean I look handsome as usual, thanks."

"Don't you just _love_ to put words in my mouth."

He let out a hearty guttural laughter, "I just have excellent mind reading skills...and it's quite useful."

"And quite delusional."

Ressler then paused in a silent study of her face, "Hey, Keen...I'm sorry about all the meet and greet...and all that stuff. I know it was an overwhelming mass of faces."

"It's alright, it's not your fault."

"They were all eager to meet you, so I had to indulge them, you know. But the ritual is over, so we could just enjoy the lunch and get the hell out."

"What…no boozing and no partying?"

"Well, maybe just a little bit."

Liz laughed along, knowing fully well that he would never refuse free drinks…in abundance. "So, did you already tell them that you were…interested in me?"

"I told Stevie. I'm sure he'll tell others."

"And you think that will do the damage?"

"Sufficiently."

And he was right. They were able to enjoy their salmon lunch with nary an interruption, save for continual glimpses and genial smiles that Liz could only interpret as…an approval. Ressler didn't seem to care about the unwarranted attention, as long as he was left alone to enjoy the bottle of champagne kindly sitting on their table. They didn't talk much during lunch, and Liz thought perhaps he should play the part of the paramour a bit more convincingly, but she already knew it was never about convincing anybody.

After some time, the lunch plates were cleared off, and the music started blaring through the hall, just as the newlywed walked to the center floor and started dancing. That was an adequate nod to everybody that it was time for dancing, and soon the floor was packed with couples swaying to the music of some indistinctive beat. Except for Liz and Ressler, who were patiently seated on their chairs, just as she shook her head in amazement as to how he had procured a bottle of whiskey in between the clearing of the tables.

"So…absolutely no dancing, huh?" She posed playfully as she accepted a glass of whiskey from him.

"Nope."

"Just curious, is it because you don't enjoy it…or you don't know how…"

"We've already discussed this, Keen. Don't push it."

"I just find it…odd…that you would absolutely refuse to do something so easy…and harmless."

"Leave it alone, Keen."

"If it's because you don't know how, I could teach you. It's actually pretty easy."

Ressler took a big gulp of the whiskey, and placed the glass on the table with an annoyed flair, "Keen, if you really want to dance, you're gonna have better luck with one of those fellas over there." And then he pointed at the group of men gathered around the bar at the far end of the reception hall.

"Fine…" She pretended to look over the men with great interest, "How about that one, the one with the grey suit?"

Ressler followed her finger pointed at the tall lean man with dark brown hair, who was laughing with a gentle command while balancing a drink in his hand with admirable deftness. But Liz wasn't expecting an appalled scowl that invaded Ressler's face, "Damn…not Phil."

"What?"

"Anyone but Phil…"

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's a smarmy ass, that's what's wrong with him." He kept his glowering eyes upon him, "I hate that guy."

"Ah, come on…stop being so dramatic." She laughed at him, although she was certain he was quite serious, "Is he a bureau agent?"

"For the New York office."

"And he's single?"

"Serial…serial womanizer."

"Ressler!" Out of reflex, she hit him in the arm and hissed at his direction, "Will you behave…"

"Fine…he's single…and always ready to mingle."

"Ressler…what is the matter with you?" Liz gave him another mean glower, "He looks like a nice man…and it doesn't hurt that he's a nice _looking_ man. He's quite tall, too…"

"Jesus…now I know you are terrible at picking men."

"And you're just…"

"What? A crude man-child?"

"That, too…but you're just…jealous."

Ressler let out a guttural laugh, while he fingers brushed through his hair roughly. "Jealous…me, jealous? Over what?"

Liz exerted much self-control and held back her fist which desperately wanted to punch his lights out. "By the way, who is Steven's cousin?"

"Who?"

"You know, the woman you were gonna get set up with?"

"Who cares…"

"Where is she?"

"Drop it, Keen."

"Here's what's going to happen. I'm gonna go have a dance with that Phil over there, and you're gonna go talk to…Tommy's cousin. That was our deal."

Ressler pushed aside his whiskey glass, and leaned into her, "I don't remember making that deal. We talked about it, but I don't recall agreeing to…"

"Or else, you are dancing with me."

"Jesus Christ…you're not gonna back down, aren't you?"

"Nope."

He paused in contemplation, while keeping an unnerved squint at her expectant eyes, "Fine."

"Fine…what?"

"Fine, I'll go talk to her."

"You will?" His swift reply caught her off guard, as she hadn't expected him to choose that option, "Who is she, anyway?"

"She's over there, in a pink dress." Ressler's head tilted toward the direction of a blond woman in a bright pink dress seated at a table near the window, "Cassandra…Tommy's cousin from Boston."

Liz stared at the woman in question, finding her rather attractive in her blond curls, with dainty features and a pleasant smile to match. She also had a very amiable and cheerful presence about her. "She's an attractive woman…don't you think?"

"That's beside the point."

"What does she do for a living?"

"She's a lawyer."

"Impressive…that's a nice, respectable profession for you."

"She's a bottom feeder, Keen…a crime hoarder…a blood sucker..."

"Ressler, be nice." Liz elbowed him playfully, "I think she's a very attractive lady, and you would be stupid to not meet her."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time you'd call me stupid," he spoke tersely as he gulped down the last of the whiskey in his glass. "Let's get this over with…you go have that dance with that geezer Phil, and I'll go have that talk with Cassandra. Then, we're leaving."

"Deal. And I want to see a meaningful conversation between you two…I'll be keeping my eyes on you."

"Oh, Jesus…"

. . . . . . . . . . .

It wasn't too difficult to get Phil to dance with her, as Liz explained to him that her date, Don, was grossly preoccupied with making some business deals with another guest. And by the way Phil's eyes lit up as she approached him, she was certain that the proposition to dance would not be rejected.

Phil was a perfect gentleman as he led her to the dance floor, keeping his hand politely on her back as they waded between other couples. A slow song was on, and his hand upon her waist was most properly genteel, and as she placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned into him, Phil was most respectfully considerate of their proximity. And to top it off, he smelled great.

"So, how long have you known Donnie?" That was Phil's first inquiry on the dance floor, which she could only assume was his peaked curiosity over the extent of her relationship with Ressler.

"Just over three years." She couldn't help but to smile back at his rather bright and attractive smile…and his teeth, they were such perfect teeth.

"Do you work closely with him?"

"Here and there, I suppose."

"Then, how do you know him so well?"

"Well, here's the thing, I don't really know the guy…not that well, anyway."

"Is that so…," Phil's perfectly shaped brows furrowed in faint confusion. "Because I heard that…oh, excuse me, where are my manners? I didn't mean to pry…please forgive me."

"No…if you meant that you heard the worst kept secret, that Don has this silly crush on me…well, I could tell you that I am not interested in him, not at all. None whatsoever."

"That's very unfortunate for Donnie…"

"Well, what can I say? How do you expect me to be attracted to the guy who drives me up the wall, all the time?"

"Excuse me?"

"Umm…what I mean is…"

"Did you just say…"

It was at that moment that Liz saw him. She saw Ressler standing behind Phil, with darkly grave eyes and lips pressed tightly shut. Liz shifted her face toward Ressler, to see what he wanted, but it wasn't her he wanted. She watched with sheer incredulity as he tapped twice on Phil's shoulder.

"May I cut in, please?"

Phil turned around to face Ressler, with a countenance thoroughly alarmed to suddenly see the subject of Liz's supposed scorn, "Hey Donnie, what's going on, man?"

"Hey, Phil…may I cut in?"

"Sorry?"

"Can I cut in?"

"Umm, sure…yeah, you can cut in." Phil turned to Liz, for a fleeting look of flustered confusion, and after a brief moment of awkward stance, he walked away just as Ressler stepped forward.

With Phil out of the way, Ressler resumed the position, holding her waist and waiting for Liz to place her hand upon his shoulder. But he had obviously underestimated her absolute disapproval of this entire situation.

"Ressler, just what the hell are you doing?"

. . . . . . . . . . .

**A/N: First of all, thank you for reading this story! I know this chapter was super long, but I just had to get their dialogue out of my system. Thanks for sticking it though!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Aint****' ****Gonna Kiss You**

**Chapter 5**

"Ressler, just what the hell are you doing?"

"Dancing."

He didn't wait for Liz to place her hand on his shoulder before leading her to a slow swaying of the rhythm. She sought his eyes, but he kept them resolutely ahead, certainly avoiding her infuriated glare that demanded an explanation. Liz considered simply grabbing his arm and pulling him off the dance floor, and quite possibly finding a more private space to give him an earful for acting like a petulant child and embarrassing her. Or for at least interrupting her dance with Phil, who smelled like a Christmas tree with a dash of mint chocolate…and a pinch of cinnamon…thrown into a most wonderful concoction.

"Cut in? Who does that these days?" Liz hissed into his ear, just as she relegated to placing her hand upon his shoulder and allowing him to lead her in a dance that felt surprisingly…pleasant. But as soon as she detected a satisfied smirk on his lips, all thoughts of the dance dissipated in place of her objectionable scorn of the man beholding her.

"What? It's the oldest form of dance etiquette." He grinned with an impish delight, holding her waist steady as he glided her two steps to the beat.

"Sure…in 19th century Old England. These days, Ressler, men wait until the dance is over."

"See, that's what is wrong with our society today. We no longer uphold these revered and sacred traditions, the very foundation of fine manners and etiquette."

"Hmm…I never took you for a prim and proper kind of guy."

"If you dig deep enough, you'll be surprised at the wealth you find."

"Amazing what passes for wealth these days." Liz couldn't help but to frown at his ludicrous antics, "Speaking of long standing etiquette, waiting for your turn is certainly one of them."

"Oh, did I cut in before Phil asked for your number? How rude of me…"

"I already gave him my number."

"You did?" Ressler jerked his head, turning his face to seek her eyes, but now it was her turn to return the satisfied smirk. He peered into her unflinching eyes, as if he had hoped she was merely pulling his dastard leg. "You gave him your number…"

"That's what I said."

"So what's the plan? You're gonna go on a date with this guy?"

"Why not? Didn't you tell me in the car that it's about time I get _out_ _there_?"

"I also told you Phil is an ass," he stammered while spewing hot breath upon her cheek. "What the hell, Keen…did you purposely disregard everything I said about that twit?"

"I don't know what your problem is…he seems like a nice guy. And he is neither an ass nor a twit." Liz bit her lip to muffle the chuckle that was dangerously threatening to escape above her controlled surface. She didn't know why she had lied to Ressler about giving Phil her number, but seeing his reaction of rattled nerves was both surprising and wickedly satisfying. Forget her conscience that insisted that lying was silly…she wouldn't miss this rare chance at pulling his strings at her roguish whim.

"No, of course the opinions of someone who had known the guy for close to eight years cannot possibly compare to the opinions of one who's met him not two minutes ago."

"That sounds about right."

"Unbelievable…just what the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? Let's see…I gave my number to a man who is polite, charming, well-spoken, and obviously intelligent. And never mind the minor detail that he is very handsome and attractive. Yes…something is very wrong with me."

He shook his head in derisive distaste, "And to top it off, he's a jackass. I'm telling you, Keen, you're wasting your time with that guy."

"Give it a rest, Ressler…I like him."

"You don't know him enough to like him."

"I know enough to let him take me out on a date."

"That confirms it…you have a soft spot for world class jerks."

"Precisely the reason why I like you." As soon as those words escaped her lips, Liz cringed in both shock and regret, and before he was given a chance to understand it or question it, she cleared her throat and spoke with a feigned indifference with a smirk to match. "Ressler, let's just call this for what it is."

"Which is?"

"You're jealous."

"I'm jealous…of Phil? You've gotta be kidding me." He let out a growl of animated laughter, but a trace of unease wasn't too difficult to detect, "That's like a wild stallion being jealous of a farm donkey."

"Well, the lady chose the donkey, so the stallion is out of luck. Pity…"

"Pity the lady is more like it."

"We'll see after the first date."

"The first…and the last, most likely."

"Or first of many."

"Oh, Jesus…" Ressler must've been thoroughly distracted, for he didn't let go of her as the dance ended, but held her firmly just as another slow song filled the great hall. Liz considered calling it to his attention, but a mysterious pull held her back, just at the moment she realized Ressler was surprisingly a great dance companion. But the dance was the faintest concern on his mind, "Well, I'm putting my money on _one_ and _done_."

"I'll keep you posted."

"No thanks."

"By the way, Ressler," she ventured bravely while mirroring his half step on the slow beat. "You're not a bad dancer…you're actually pretty good at this."

"I said I don't dance. I didn't say I don't know _how_ to dance." He grumbled even at her supposed compliment. How could he be bothered this much about her and Phil?

"You do realize…this is the second song we're dancing to."

"Oh, I didn't notice…you wanna get outta here?"

"No…no…let's leave when the song's over." Liz held her gaze into Ressler's eyes, with a curiosity of him upholding his half of their deal, "So…I'm guessing you didn't talk to Cassandra."

"Who?"

"You can't be serious…"

"I talked to her." Ressler shifted his eyes, a sure sign that he was lying, and she couldn't help the chuckle that escaped without restraint. He focused upon her eyes again, and this time with wary suspicion and hesitation, much like a criminal called upon his lies. "What…what's so funny?"

"Come on, Ress…who are you kidding? You didn't talk to her…"

"Well, I'm dancing with you, ain't I? As I recall, this is one of the two stipulations of our deal…"

"Stipulations?"

"…and I believe I'm held accounted to my obligations, so I'm in the clear."

Liz shook her head at his dogged stance that often compulsively…and often improbably…convinced him of faultlessness. "What a way to make our silly deal sound like a hostage transaction. Alright…what happened?"

"I'm not sure what you're asking…"

"You chickened out?"

"What?"

"The last time I looked, you were hauling your ass towards her. So, what the hell happened?"

"First of all, I don't chicken out, on _anything_. And secondly, why are we still discussing this? I delivered my end of the deal, who gives a damn about what the hell in between."

Liz looked around the reception hall in an attempt to locate Cassandra in her bright pink dress. But, unfortunately and quite conveniently, she was nowhere to be seen. "Where is she, anyways? Did you growl at her and scare her away?"

"Yes, she fled because she found my handsome face too intimidating."

"Perhaps it was your persistent self-flattery that scared her away," she replied flatly, without missing a beat. "You can continue to avoid answering my questions…I mean, that's what you do best. But you do realize, sooner or later, I will get to the bottom of this…because that's what _I_ do best."

"Then, here's to endless hours of wasted time. Cheers, Keen."

"You know…it's interesting how you pester me on every detail about Phil, yet you refuse to say one stinkin' word about Cassandra."

"It's called will power, Keen. This only confirms my superior discipline, as compared to your…"

"Shut up, Ress."

Liz shook her head and rolled her eyes in sly exaggeration, which elicited a toothy grin and a slight wink from Ressler. She was all too familiar with his swaggering antics, but there was an understanding between them, that his intentions were hardly mischievous nor malicious. Indeed, the only pleasure he sought for pushing her buttons was mere laughter and her smile was his only gratifying payment received. Still, she would like to prove that he's wrong on many occasions, and she was rather stingy with giving up her smiles, but she would be lying if she couldn't admit that Ressler had an endearing access to her funny bone.

They had now settled into the dance with not a word shared between them, except for the lilting beat of the music and the swaying of Ressler's leading. With her attention resting solely on the dance, all of her sensibilities gathered upon the touch of his hands and the nearness of his body, just as his warm breath curled against her bare shoulders. She also became conscious of her right hand, which had been held secure in his hand for the last two songs. His fingertips were calloused and rough, but his hand enveloped hers firmly but gently, and with much warmth and tenderness.

She was also keenly aware of his hand upon her waist, how he held onto that curvature with a gentle press, while he guided her with reserved push and pull. He glided her with ease and deftness, with tempered control and a certain demure modesty, which sharply contrasted with the heated bickering of words spewing thoughtlessly between them. Liz hadn't noticed until now, but he had never, not even once, missed a beat nor a sway, and he held her expertly in balance and in direction.

Her thoughts then floated to her left hand, resting on top of his shoulder and finding sturdy support. Liz shifted her face ever so slightly, her nose and lips grazing like air into the curved nape of his neck, and her eyes fluttered in response to his musky scent. It was a scent that she was all too familiar with, but one that she had not been so close to before. His cheek teasingly caressed her cheek, and in that brief inadvertent touch, she couldn't help but to blush in the flash of heat that passed through every nerve of her body. Every grasp of his touch pulsated warmth and of certain unquenchable energy, throbbing with swelter that she felt carried, beyond control and decorum, to lean into him…closer to him.

"Something wrong?" Ressler whispered into her ear, which was just a breath away from his lips. The sound of his gravelly voice felt like a throw of cold water upon her fiery senses, and she cleared her throat to compose her rattled nerves.

"Nothing…"

"Something's wrong…"

"It's nothing."

"Hmm…" He took a slight step back, to allow a pinch of space between them after she had unwittingly nestled into his chest. He shifted his face to look at her, "The song's gonna end soon…and so will the torture."

"It's not that…"

"Come on, Keen…cut the act."

"No, really…the dance feels…nice."

"Nice? As in, passably tolerable? Adequately decent?"

Liz let out a short chuckle at his odd elaboration, "It's nice, as in…wait, are you just fishing for a compliment?"

"Well, if a complement is due, it should be given."

"It's just…nice." She smiled and patted his shoulder twice, with a flair of an upper hand, "Alright…I'll give you…pleasant. But that's the best I can do."

"Do you wanna dip? Because I could do a dip."

"What?"

"That would surely elevate it to…mind-blowing."

"Woah, that's a bold upgrade…a bit audacious to be real, don't you think? Baby steps, Ressler, baby steps."

"How about a twirl, then? Heel turn? Free spin? Come on, I gotta earn at least a…memorable."

"Oh, this is memorable, alright."

"What…what does that suppose to mean?" Ressler gave her a sharp eyeful of skepticism, "The hell, Keen…you said this was…nice."

Liz couldn't help but chuckle at the sliver of self-consciousness that escaped through his quivering tone, and he was none too pleased at her cruel delight. "Relax, Ressler…speaking of dance etiquette, it's only good manners to accompany the dance with pleasantries."

"What? Wait a minute…Keen…"

Ressler was hardly afforded a moment to interrogate Liz, for the song fortuitously came to end and in the bustle of people that followed, he was compelled to let go of his hold of her. Liz was certain, by his lips slightly agape, that he wasn't done discussing the particulars of her jest. But she even robbed him of that chance as she turned, with a sly smile, and walked off the dance floor. He followed close behind her, as she felt the warmth of his chest lightly grazing against her bare shoulders. Unbeknownst to him, she snickered quietly to herself, finding his shaky anxiety over her words devilishly satisfying.

They had reached their table, and just as Liz had picked up her small handbag, Ressler mumbled with a hint of dour undertone, "I gotta go say bye to Tommy…and then I'll get our coats."

She turned to face him, not at all surprised to find his countenance still sullen, but she also knew he wasn't going to press it any further. "Fine…I'll wait here."

Ressler left without saying another word, and Liz sat down on the chair as she mindlessly watched him walk toward the group of his buddies by the bar. Her eyes lingered a bit on him as he appeared to exchange words with the men, shaking hands with a few and sharing loud bursts of laughter. She could already tell it'd take a while until Ressler would fetch their coats.

Her eyes idly shifted to the opposite wall of the reception hall where a large dessert table was set up by the wedding cake. She was tempted to walk over just to peruse the selections, as being a lone occupant of their round table was rather dull and dreary. Just about everyone in the hall were either dancing, or mingling in a lively company…all except for her.

Liz was about to get up from her chair and head to the dessert table, when she halted in breathless delight. She had just spotted Cassandra nibbling on a truffle at the corner by the dessert table, and that only brought sprightly verve to the already determined resolve. Cassandra was standing with four other ladies, but thankfully she appeared to be more absorbed with her dessert plate than the company.

Liz got up quickly, and walked over to Cassandra with long languid strides, while trying to hide an impish smile that surely reflected her diabolical eagerness. Liz meant it when she chided to Ressler that she'd get to the bottom of it…it being whatever that he was refusing to talk about…and this was her one chance. Liz shot a sharp glance at Ressler, and with his back turned to her, he had no idea what damage was being waged upon his stubbornly reticent reputation.

Liz reached the dessert table, and with one quick motion, picked up a small white plate and filled it with several chocolate truffles. Then she slowed down her pace, cleared her throat, and inhaled deeply to clear her face of any notion of expression. This was her finest hour of undercover operation, and she put on a comely smile as she approached Cassandra from behind.

"Excuse me, how are the strawberry truffles? They look awfully sweet, enough to give me a cavity." Liz stood by Cassandra's side, eyeing that the blond woman had filled her plate with only strawberry truffles.

"Oh, no, these are just perfect. Absolutely delicious with just enough sweetness." Cassandra turned to face her, and she smiled at Liz with a warm and cheery delight. She pointed to her plate, "As you can see, I'm eating way too many of these."

"I'm a chocolate girl myself, but the strawberry ones do look yummy. I think I will try some."

"Here, take some of mine. I don't know what I was thinking…I may have taken the entire tray." Cassandra let out a roar of a high-pitched laughter, and handed Liz two of her strawberry truffles from her plate.

"Oh, thank you." Liz joined in the laughter, however failing to match Cassandra's fantastical level of glee. She took a bite of the dessert, "Mmmm, you're right. These are positively delish."

"Uh huh, too die for."

"Definitely worth the walk with these heels."

"Most definitely."

"Even a whole day spent at this…wedding."

"Tell me about it."

Truth be told, Liz didn't think the strawberry truffles were remotely a cause to celebrate, but she smiled giddily at Cassandra, who would've objected vehemently at that sentiment if spoken. Liz bit into another truffle, widening her eyes with feigned approval, "Men have no idea what the women go through to get ready for these things."

"Oh, God no…absolutely no clue."

"Can you believe I was asked to come to this wedding just two days ago?"

"Two days? Well, of all the classic jerk moves…" Cassandra's mouth fell agape in an animated astonishment, "I'm surprised you showed up here at all…whoever he is, he's lucky to receive your good graces. By the way, you look stunning, so you pulled it off perfectly. Another reason why he's lucky."

"Thank you, and yes, he has no idea what a lucky bastard he is." She chuckled sweetly, "And look at him over there…laughing like the dolt that he is, without a care in the world."

Liz pointed to Ressler across the room, who still had his back turned to them, but he stood out being the only blond in the bunch. Cassandra recognized him immediately, "Oh, you came here with Donnie…"

"Yes…do you know him?"

"Of course, he's an old buddy of the groom, Stevie, who happens to be my cousin." She extended her hand daintily, with her fingertips reddened from the strawberries, "I'm Cassandra…nice to meet you."

"I'm Liz…nice to meet you, too." Liz took her hand and shook it gently, and smiled with a bright upbeat, "It seems like everyone knows just about everyone else around here…except for me."

"Yes, a lot of them go way back, you know, to the Academy days." Cassandra nodded with a reassuring grin, "This is a frat boy gathering of cop meat heads…you'd be surprised at just how many federal agents are huddled into this place. Wait a minute…you're not…"

"Yes, I am…a federal agent. Met Don at work."

"Oh, I'm sorry…I didn't mean that you're a meat head, or anything…" Cassandra looked horrid at her bungling words, "What I meant to say was that you couldn't be at a more secure place than here…"

"No, I understand…really. It's not a big deal." Liz laughed lightly to reassure her, "But please do tell me if I even smell like a stodgy suited fed agent."

"You certainly don't fit into anything remotely stodgy, far from it. I can see why Donnie would ask you to the wedding."

At the mention of his name, Liz prowled upon it like live bait, "I guess you know Don pretty well."

"I wouldn't say 'well'. I only heard things from Stevie, just bits and pieces."

"From the Academy days?"

"Mostly."

Liz scooted closer to the blond woman, while trying to conceal the manic elation at the prospect of finding something…_anything_…personal about Ressler, without him knowing it. "So, what do you know about him? I mean, Cassandra, you gotta give me some dirt here, I need to have some fun with the guy."

"Oh, Liz, that sounds so wicked…but I love it!" She let out a shrill of laughter, and Liz was certain Cassandra wasn't going to resist one bit, "But I'm not sure if what I have is considered dirt…"

"Anything will do, at this point. Don is so tightlipped about his personal life…I just wanna have a little fun with him, you know? Poke him a little bit…call him out on some things…"

"Yes, I know how Donnie is…he is never one to overshare…or just share…"

"So…did he have a girlfriend at the Academy?" Liz didn't mean to blurt that out, herself not quite sure why that question popped into her mind first…of all the questions and curiosities.

"No, I don't think so. Stevie never mentioned him with a girl. All they did was play baseball and…"

"Baseball, huh? Would've thought he'd be more of a football guy…"

"No, they were in a baseball league together. Donnie was quite a star pitcher, and he was a very popular student at the Academy."

"But no girlfriend…strange…"

"From what I heard, Donnie was very focused in his studies…"

"Well, that much I knew, just by looking at him." Out of instinct, Liz turned to take a peek at Ressler across the hall, but she was startled to find him looking right back at her. It seemed as though he had been on to her for more than a moment before, and as their eyes locked, she saw his focused tense lines and knew trouble was coming…and she didn't have much time.

Liz quickly turned back to Cassandra, "His studies and baseball…no time for anything else, I suppose."

"Umm…they also liked to go fishing…"

"Fishing? Cassandra, do you have anything that's a wee bit more interesting?"

"I think he knows how to play a guitar."

"Guitar, huh…" Liz was now feeling quite impatient with the lack of any…scandalous…substance in what turned out to be his disappointingly non-checkered past, "Did Steven ever talk about Don's parents?"

"Oh, now that you mention it…I do remember Stevie say that his parents…"

"Yes…?"

"They, um…the thing is…"

But before another word escaped through Cassandra's hesitant mumbling, Liz felt a tight hold of her elbow from behind. And she turned her face instantly to the presence behind her, fully knowing that the owner of that voice would be glaring at her…and she was right.

"Excuse me, am I interrupting?" Ressler's voice was ragged and prickly, but a perfunctory smile upon his face confirmed an admirable restraint.

"Don…no, we're just chatting some girl stuff." Liz replied sweetly, masking the disappointment at his arrival that was two seconds too soon. "You know Cassandra, right?"

"Just by hearing…but it's nice to meet you finally." Ressler gave Cassandra a polite smile, but he kept his hand holding Liz's elbow. And by the slight pull exerted on her elbow, he wanted to get out of there.

"Hello, Donnie…yes, it's nice to meet you, too."

Liz kept her smile undeterred upon him, "I was just telling Cassandra the best way to take out a stain on a silk dress is to dab on some sparkling water."

"Oh…that's nice." He was not interested, and he wasn't going to pretend otherwise, "Liz, I need to get some wine from the cellar. Could you help me?"

"Is this for your personal stash, or…"

"They relieved the wait staff an hour ago, so I'm helping out before we go."

"I see…"

"Let's go." He pulled on her arm, but she resisted him and stood firm…just as she considered another option, however sly.

"Don, why don't you stay here with Cassandra, and I'll go get the wine. I could use some fresh air."

They both shot her a quick glance, Cassandra in her veiled interest and Ressler in his impatient display of suspicion and dissent. He glowered, "No…it's heavy. I'd rather do it."

"Don, I can handle it. Just tell me where the cellar is located." And with that, she attempted to free her arm from his grasp, but his hand upon her elbow was steady and determined.

"No, Liz…this won't take long. Come on, now." Ressler puller her elbow once more, and this time she didn't resist. He nodded curtly at Cassandra, "Nice to meet you…and if you'd excuse us."

"Yes…yes…bye Donnie…and Liz."

As she was being half-dragged away, Liz turned to see Cassandra, finding her face bearing a mixture of bumbling confusion and inquisitive regard. Liz simply smiled and waved at her, "Bye, Cassandra…thanks for the strawberry truffles…"

Ressler didn't let go of her arm until they were out of the reception area, and they were stomping down the staircase leading to the kitchen. He hissed furiously at her, "What the hell were you doing, Keen?"

"What…"

"What do you mean _what_? Why the hell were you talking to Cassandra? What are you getting at?"

"I was bored while you were guffawing with your buddies…I thought I'd make a new friend."

"A new _friend_?"

"Yes, a friend. Not surprised that you find the concept foreign."

"Oh, you must think I'm real stupid to believe that."

"Well, I can't argue against that."

"Unbelievable."

Liz followed Ressler down the hallway, passing a large but empty kitchen located in the east wing. The hallway was completely empty and hushed, save for their hurried footsteps upon the cobblestone floor. He walked fast and methodically, and was always a step ahead of her. He was angry and she knew it, "Where are we going?"

"To the wine cellar."

"So, we're really getting some wine…"

"I wasn't lying about it."

He continued his brisk steps without a word, but in a moment he turned to her with a flash of infuriated blue in his eyes, "Keen…I'd appreciated it if you would just mind your own damn business."

"I wasn't…"

"Don't think for one minute I don't know what you were doing with Cassandra."

"And that is?"

"Trying to get some dirt on me, that's what."

"Typical that you'd think my world revolves around you." Liz was lying, but the walk was distracting Ressler from focusing on her shaky countenance, "I could tell you, we were definitely not talking about you."

"And you are a terrible liar. I know you…you would never pass up on that opportunity, zeroing in like a vulture upon a dead buffalo."

"Hey…"

"So, what did she tell you? How much did you squeeze out of that melon head of hers?"

"Cut it out…"

"By the way, you trying to set me up with her…that's getting old. And it's never gonna happen, so throw in the towel."

"Don't flatter yourself…after what she's seen of you being an ass back there, I'm sure that's the furthest thing on her mind."

"Good…mission accomplished."

"Intentional or not."

Ressler made a sharp left turn at the fork at the end of the long hallway, and he opened a first door in their view, a large old wooden double door. "As much as I'm enjoying our little pep talk, we have work to do."

He entered the wine cellar first, and she followed close behind, becoming aware of the sharp drop in the temperature in the dark chamber. Ressler fumbled on the wall, looking for a light switch, and in an instant a dim light flickered through the lone lamp above. Liz stared at the walls of wine before them, as well as the eerie shadow casted upon the dark corners. "Jeez, this is straight out of Dracula…"

"Well, Transylvania never had this much wine."

"I wouldn't put it past them…you never know, Dracula getting drunk and making dumb decisions…"

Ressler snorted lightly at her jest as he picked up a small basket off the floor, and placed it on the table by the door, "Let's just grab some bottles…and put them in this basket."

"Yes, wine captain, sir."

"Hey, I kinda like the sound of that."

Liz studied the wine selection on the east wall, whereas Ressler naturally took the bottles lined up against the west wall. The selection was not large, but the variety was certainly wide and plentiful. She muttered softly toward Ressler, "I don't know half of these…"

"Just pick out whatever you can…at this point, people don't care what they drink."

"I'll stick with Merlot…and Chardonnay."

"Fine."

Liz picked out three bottles, after she rejected one that she couldn't pronounce, and placed them in the basket. Ressler had lined up five bottles on the ground, and she peered into their labels as he brought three more, "What is…Gewurt…tra…miner?"

"If you have to ask, don't worry about it."

"Didn't take you for a wine connoisseur…"

"Just layers of my many talents."

Liz rolled her eyes, feeling affronted by his obnoxiousness, and looked over at the man who had resumed reading the wine labels by the wall. He looked quite busy and focused, but she walked toward him nimbly and stood about a foot away from him, pretending to be interested in a tall bottle of red wine.

"So, you played baseball, huh?"

"What?"

"I pegged you for a football meathead…but baseball, it is."

"I knew it…" Ressler shook his head in derisive chuckle, "I knew you interrogated Cassandra. Just couldn't resist sleuthing around, little miss detective."

"Vulture upon the dead buffalo, remember? And I did say I'll get to the bottom of it."

"I had no doubt…who knew Cassandra would be the chosen carcass…"

"Hey, stop that…"

"So, what other criminal insights did you dig up from our hapless witness? Purely hear-say, by the way."

"Nothing to write home about…" Ressler gave her a quick side glance, and she couldn't help the coy smile at his probing gaze, "Let's see…you like to go fishing…"

"Scandalous."

"…and you know how to play the guitar…"

"What a monster."

"…and no girlfriend…I suppose I'm not that surprised."

Ressler chuckled lightly at her playful quip, "I see your witness is most heinously misinformed."

"Really…"

"The more accurate description would be that no girl was found worthy of this fine prize."

"Oh, Jesus…"

His eyes twinkled in a mysterious amusement as he handed her a bottle of wine, of which she placed it inside the basket. "Now I want that witness report typed, first thing in the morning."

"Shut up, Ress…"

Ressler resumed his quiet reading of the wine labels, and Liz returned to her side of the wall, having lost interest against his stalwart resistance to her bait, no matter how trivial. She felt tempted to ask him about his parents…the very subject that Cassandra was hesitant to tell her…but she thought better of it. This wasn't the time for it, or the place for it. And it wasn't something that she wanted to know by cornering him, or by interrogating him as he'd most likely retreat to sarcasm to retain upper hand…as if it was a game of wit. But she knew it wasn't, and couldn't stand the thought that she may make him treat it like that…all because he didn't want to talk about it.

"Damn…I don't believe it…" Ressler muttered softly, perhaps more to himself, and Liz turned to find him examining a tall bottle of wine with a focused squint.

"What is it?"

"This is Gheringer, 1954…"

"A what?" Liz walked over to Ressler's side, peering into the label of the wine in his hand, "This is written in German…"

"Yeah, it's from a family winery of Gheringers in eastern Meissen, Germany…"

"And you know that because…"

He lifted the bottle to the flickering light bulb, studying what appeared to be the color of the wine, "Dark port…damn, I haven't seen this wine for…"

"Ressler…"

He finally looked at her, with the bottle still cradled in both of his hands, "My grandfather…this was his favorite wine. He had cases of this stuff stacked in his basement…or more like a make-shift cellar."

"Oh…"

"This was all he drank, with every meal if he could. He let me play with the empty bottles in the cellar when I was a kid…I'll wash them and roll them on the ground like they were hand grenades."

"Started early, huh?"

"Never too early, Keen…" Ressler smiled with his eyes glistening with recollection, "I loved playing in that cellar, with all the dust and cobwebs…it felt like I was in the trenches of World War II…"

"Did you visit your grandfather often?"

"He practically raised me…"

Liz was again tempted to inquire about his parents, but she bit her tongue with another wave of reluctance. This was quite possibly the very first time that Ressler had mentioned his childhood, without any goading or wrangling on her part, and she knew it'd be unwise to push him…as he may think she was sleuthing for her curiosity, yet again. For at that moment, all she wanted to do was listen to him, to picture him as a little boy with his grandfather, playing pretend war…and she wanted to know more, learn more about this boy. And she smiled unknowingly at the image of a blond haired tyke running around in the dusty old cellar.

"Sometimes I'd catch spiders and keep them in these bottles, you know, just force them in there. Then I'd watch them, how they interact with each other, how they figure things out…or to see who died first."

"And they died of…"

"Lack of oxygen, most likely. Slow and painful death of asphyxiation…"

"That's very cruel of you."

"Hey, I was a boy…that's what boys do."

"Just getting fitted into that mold…"

"Yup, to become a full grown brute beast one day." Ressler winked at her playfully, then placed the bottle back on the shelf. But his eyes lingered there and his fingers gently rested upon the bottle, as if he wasn't quite ready to let go.

"You wanna drink that wine?" Liz spoke with a hushed regard, "Or you could take it with you, if you want…"

"Nah, I just can't believe I found this bottle here, of all places…I just…well…" Ressler's words drifted off as his eyes were kept resting on the bottle, persevering to hold on to that much he remembered, and resisting to leave it.

"You…miss your grandfather."

"Maybe. I mean, yeah…yeah, I do." Ressler turned to face her, and with a slumped shrug of his shoulders he mumbled, "Anyway…let's get outta here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

He walked over to the rustic table by the door, and started to fill the basket with the wine bottles he had lined up on the ground. Liz watched him in what felt like a trance, reveling in the intimate details of his childhood that was stumbled upon her, most unassumingly and so casually. She had so many other questions about his life, but she had never once thought fitting that she could presume a response. Truly, the events of the last few moments, in that dark dungeon of a dusty cellar, were remarkably fortuitous and quite startling. If he could open up just a little bit more…

"What…" Ressler's gravelly voice rang in the stillness of the room, "Why are you looking at me like that for?"

"Huh?"

"Keen, you're staring at me."

"Uh…sorry…"

"Oh, Jesus…" He placed the basket on the table, which she wasn't even aware he was carrying in his hand as he waited for her at the door, "You're not freaking out now that I said some personal stuff, are you?"

"No…of course, not…"

"Look, Keen…" He then walked over to her as she leaned against the wine shelves, having not moved an inch during the entire duration of her fleeting musings. He placed one hand upon a shelf, right by her shoulder, and he leaned in to her, "I don't know what the big deal is…if you wanna ask me something about my life, go right ahead."

The sudden close proximity of his body leaning toward her caused an unexplainable stirring of nerves deep within her, and Liz wished her voice didn't sound as sputtered and hoarse, "I don't know what you're talking about…"

"Don't give me that." He chuckled softly, as his breath wafted teasingly against her face, "I know when the wheels in that little head of yours is turning, and today it was on over-drive. Ask away…I've got nothing to hide."

"A regular open book, huh?"

"As presented."

Now it was her turn to chuckle, just as she was sure he had leaned a bit closer, of which she felt no compulsion to resist, "No, Ressler…you're hardly what you claim to be."

"Maybe not to the rest of the world…but to you…yes, I am." His jagged voice cracked slightly at that moment, and she was sure she saw something flash across his eyes, of certain tenuous emotion that fleeted even at his unaware. He cleared his throat, but his tone remained low and hushed, "So, here I am, at your disposal. Ask away."

Her eyes locked with his, in an attempt to figure out just what the hell he was doing. And if this was some kind of a joke…or an absurd entrapment…then he had no idea who he was fooling. "I don't believe it…nor buy it."

"Keen, did you not hear anything I just said to you?"

"You're pulling my leg…and I'm not amused."

"I meant every word. I got nothing to hide from you."

At his last declaration, in its unforeseen honesty and depth, Liz was caught breathless and senseless, feeling numb and muddled…and in no shape to utter a coherent reply. She could've pulled some sarcastic quip, but somehow even that she felt robbed to produce. But it was Ressler who spoke in her place, and in a quiet whisper he leaned closer to her.

"Keen…let me help you."

"What…"

"I think I know what you want to ask me." Then he brought his hand to her cheek, cupping her face gently like a flutter, and he raised her chin toward his face…toward his lips. And he barely breathed out these words, "It doesn't have to be this complicated."

Liz felt her own breath quicken at his bold touch, and she was certain she was blushing like a wild maniac who's been bitten by the heat of the fire. His nose glided against her nose tenuously but willfully, and the scent of his skin had begun to overwhelm all the last nerves of her body. They were at this predicament before, of teases and longings…but this time, Ressler looked determined to finish what he started, and she didn't have the will to resist him…nor did she want to.

"I don't think this is a good idea." Yet she placed her hand upon his chest, muttering in their close space, just as she felt his lips a breath away from hers. She felt as though this was something she had to say, regardless of what her heart wanted…but her hand didn't push him away, it merely rested on his chest. And he pressed forward with not a thought to her words.

"Keen…for once…shut up."

. . . . . . .

**A/N: Thank you for reading this story! Another long chapter, so thanks for the patience and endurance :) I know these types of cliffhangers are so annoying, but I had to end it here, or the chapter would****'****ve been like 10,000 words. Yikes.**


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